Retrograde Shift
by CTech
Summary: Phoenix Hayes, Hunstman-in-training, programmer, and recent amnesiac, returns to Beacon after escaping from an Atlesian facility. Will Phoenix and the rest of team APCT be able to stave off cybernetic Grimm invasions and political backstabbing? OC Team APCT, first-person perspective, world-building.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

I came to with my wrists and ankles shackled to a chair. The cold steel was unforgiving, and the metal cuffs did not give when I strained against them.

My thoughts raced. I recalled nothing; I knew not how I ended up in the chair. I knew not who I was or what I was doing here.

I knew _nothing_.

What frightened me was how little that realization disturbed me.

With my memory blank, I turned to observation. A quick glance around the room revealed a small, almost sterile cell. The walls looked to be made of heavy steel, painted white, and the door was reinforced, likely several inches thick. To make matters worse, the chair I was currently manacled to was bolted to the floor.

There was no way to escape.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts. Surely there was a way out of here. I just hadn't found it yet.

Casting my gaze about my cell once again, I spied a camera in the top-left corner of the room. It sported an unblinking red light, observing my plight with a cold disposition.

Someone was watching me.

Before I could question myself, a feeling—a finely-honed instinct—snapped to attention. Some part of me clicked—what it was, I did not know—and reality _shifted_. My surroundings morphed, and no longer was I in that cell. Instead, I floated among blinking connections, flashes of light that traced predetermined paths.

Once again, I knew not where I was. And yet, that very same instinct exploded into action. I traversed an unmarked path, unsure of my destination, until I arrived at a wall. Rather than turning around, however, I broke straight through it. Disoriented beyond belief, I relinquished myself to this invisible force of mine. It certainly seemed to know what to do.

Soon, I came to a massive nexus, a nucleus of various paths. Entering it, I found arrays of strange pillars. Columns of banded light and dark peppered the space. I continued until I stopped in front of a particular pillar. Darting forward, I _melted_ into it, becoming part of the striated radiance. I felt myself manipulating the light, switching it on and off with a practiced ease.

Eventually, the driving force within me seemed satisfied with its work and ceased. Immediately, I felt another click and my surroundings shifted once more. Opening my eyes, I found myself back in the same chair, in the same cell.

Except the shackles were open. I was free to go.

A wave of doubt and confusion swept over me, oppressive in its strength. I still had no idea where I was or who I was. I did not know what I just did to free myself, and neither did I know how I did it.

All I knew was that I could escape.

Rubbing my wrists, I got out of my chair and headed for the door. A passing glance at the camera caused me to perform a double take. The red light was off. Somehow, I knew that the camera was no longer recording me.

Quelling the questions that arose from that observation, I pressed my shoulder against the door. With a squeal that suggested a neglect for upkeep, the door opened to reveal a hallway. Much like the room I had recently exited, the hallway conveyed a sterilized aesthetic, with whitewashed walls and a clean tile floor. Doors lined the hallway on both sides. A quick look in another room revealed an identical setup to my own, but without a shackled hostage.

Without any other indication for direction, I dashed to my left. As I ran, I pondered my predicament. I had so many questions and so little information.

 _Phoenix_. The thought cracked through my memory like a lightning bolt.

I stumbled. A memory! I grasped at it, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. Shaking my head, I focused on running.

I reached the end of the hall to find an entrance to a stairwell. Above the door was another camera. A spike of panic rushed through me—whoever was holding me captive may have seen me making my escape—but the recording light wasn't on. Did I disable this camera, too? I didn't have time to mull over these questions—each second I spent out of my cell was another second someone could notice my absence. Once again batting my curiosity aside, I entered the stairwell.

My first instinct was to descend, but I caught myself. There were no windows in the hallway or the stairwell, and no markings inside the hallway indicated that the building was located above ground. For all I knew, I was in an underground bunker. Leaning over the rail, I looked downwards. Lights from each floor cast a soft glow onto the stairs beneath me. A cursory count revealed ten floors underneath my own. Casting my eyes upwards, I was met with much the same picture, except it was brighter at the top. A few seconds later, the light dimmed lazily, as if a cloud had gone in front of the sun.

The sun!

I shot up the stairs. While I had yet to see another person in the facility, I didn't want to chance any encounters. The sooner I left, the less risk I had of being spotted.

Reaching the top of the stairs, I bashed my shoulder into the door. The door flew open, revealing a sight that was both comforting and worrying. The sun shone through tall glass windows, greeting me.

The barrels of two guns also greeted me, their owners none too pleased to see me.

I blinked and cursed my thunderous entrance. The two guards, who had had their backs to me, now had their pistols pointed straight at my chest. I dove behind a marble pillar, the two guards already firing my way.

I caught my breath and gathered my wits. Ignoring commands to surrender from the guards, I felt myself calm. Even with adrenaline roaring through my veins, my vision sharpened, my senses enhanced, and the world slowed about me.

I knew I had done this before. I knew I had done battle before today.

Instinct did not lie.

Glancing about, I spied a desk close by, one receptionists typically worked at. I rolled behind it, earning more gunshots for my action. Craning my head back, I viewed a holder of various office utensils. One in particular earned my attention. Snaking a hand upwards, I grasped a letter opener and brought it back behind the desk. I grinned as I ran a finger over its edge, testing its sharp blade. This would do.

More gunshots sounded, the bullets burying themselves into the marble wall over my head. Estimating the shooters' positions, I waited for a lull in the gunfire. When one arrived, I jumped up and my hand shot forward with a practiced flick of the wrist. The letter opener rocketed from my hand, flying true. It lodged itself into a guard's thigh, causing him to hunch over, dropping his pistol in the process. The gun skittered towards the desk, stopping halfway between it and the second guard.

Wasting no time, I vaulted over the top of the desk. A roll bled off my momentum, and a slide brought my hands into contact with the dropped handgun. As I raised my hands to aim at the second guard, he fired at me. Some combination of observation and experience screamed at me, and I knew that his bullet would hit me in the chest.

All of a sudden, a surge of energy sprang forth from within me. Instinct took control and it directed the energy to my chest. The bullet collided with the barrier—

And the bullet lost.

 _Aura_. Another memory raced through my mind and was lost immediately. Only the word remained.

Even as the guard's bullet fell to the floor, I replied with one of my own. The guard stumbled and fell to his knees, clutching his shoulder. A swift kick to his head rendered him unconscious, and another to his companion quickly followed.

After disarming the guards, I taped them back-to-back with a roll of duct tape I found in a desk drawer. As I compiled weapons and ammunition, my battle focus slackened, my adrenaline dissipating. I finally took stock of the room around me.

I stood in the center of a small lobby. Picture windows let the natural light in, giving me a view of mountains and windswept hills. The marble floor and pillars conveyed an air of power, while an emblem that tickled my memory covered the wall above the desk. Ornate benches were scattered near the other walls. All in all, the room presented a vignette of a business atmosphere.

Certainly not one where humans were trapped in a bunker beneath my feet.

Grasping a handgun and pocketing the ammunition, I set off, searching for an exit. My boots made hollow noises that echoed in the empty hallways.

The further I walked, the more I began to worry. The gunshots the guards and I traded earlier were not quiet. Undoubtedly, someone had noticed the firefight. A glance at the sun showed it to be just past daybreak, and yet the absence of staffing unnerved me. Ignoring my unease, I continued onwards.

Eventually, I came to an intersection. To my left lay doors leading to the outside. To my right stood two more guards, holding their post in front of a heavy door. As much as I would have liked to make my escape, I needed to remove any witnesses. I snuck along the wall towards the intersection. Steeling myself, I burst around the corner and fired off two quick shots. The guards crumpled, and I soon had another unconscious and tied-up pair.

Halfway to the front door, I hesitated. Guards indicated that something of importance lay beyond that heavy door. Whether or not it concerned me, I wasn't so sure. My curiosity getting the better of me, I did an about-face and stepped up to the door.

The door was several inches thick, much like the one in my cell. Next to the door's handle was a keypad. A small window in the center of the door gave me a view of a hangar. A few scattered aircraft filled the space. However, a small pedestal just inside the hangar drew my attention. On it was a small black cube with red highlights on the edges. By my estimation, it was about six inches to a side, but I wouldn't know unless I got closer.

 _Recursive Nature_. Another flash of insight, one that brought a feeling of loyalty and sentimentality. Even though I didn't know what that cube did, I needed to get it back.

It was mine, I was sure of it.

Giving the keypad a hard stare, a click resounded within me as the world shifted; I found myself among the blinking paths once again. Undeterred, I proceeded to locate another nexus, this one with fewer paths leading away from it, and jumped into a pillar of light. After a bit of experimentation, I entered reality again and found the door unlocked.

 _Semblance_. I filed the word away for further thought. For now, I had a cube to retrieve.

Striding towards the pedestal, I couldn't help but shiver. The hangar doors were open, and cold air from the snowy mountaintops diffused throughout the space. My cargo pants and thin shirt did little against the chill. Taking in the view, I noted that the facility was isolated on the slope. Perhaps escaping on foot was a bad plan after all.

Arriving at the cube's pedestal, I reached forward to retrieve it. Unfortunately, as soon as Recursive Nature left the pedestal, alarms began to blare. So much for disappearing without a trace.

Tucking Recursive Nature under my arm, I sprinted towards one of the aircraft. Glancing behind me, I saw armed guards filing into the hangar, weapons at the ready. A shout sounded from one of them, and then all began to fire my way. As if it were second nature, my Aura shielded me from any shots that met their marks, leaving me unscathed.

I clambered inside the belly of the ship and scrambled for the cockpit. I felt a bout of frustration well up—I didn't know how to fly this aircraft, and armed guards were fast in pursuit. I scanned the controls desperately, hoping to glean enough to operate the craft. Then, a thought occurred to me.

What if the aircraft had an autopilot?

With a grin on my face, I transitioned back into the world of pulsing connections. Within moments, I switched back to reality, my piece finished. The motors hummed, building up momentum, and I shot out of the hangar seconds later, the sounds of gunfire rapidly fading behind me.

I reclined in my seat, relief washing over me. I had finally escaped. The mountains rolled past as I flew overhead, and soon, I was above the clouds. But my peace did not last long.

I didn't know where I was going.

 _Vale_. The word felt like home. But I didn't know where that was in relation to where I was now.

 _Beacon_. Again, the destination sounded like where I wanted to go.

Perhaps the ship knew.

Another pair of clicks had me routed towards Vale proper at top speed. As a bonus, I disabled the aircraft's tracking software, and given that no pursuit vessels were on my tail, I felt the rest of my flight would go without a hitch. I was invisible, with nothing but the clear blue skies in every direction.

A small display at the front of the cockpit estimated I had hours until I arrived. Satisfied, I relaxed into sleep, the engines singing a two-toned lullaby as I soared above the clouds.

* * *

A/N: Welcome to the story! As a RWBY enthusiast and with a recent fascination with fictional writing, I decided to start my own story, set in the RWBY universe. Although this chapter is shorter than what I want my average length to be, I felt a concise beginning was apt.

I intend to update this story once every two weeks, on Fridays. However, since I am entering my freshman year of college, I can't make any guarantees. If anything changes to the update schedule, though, I will be sure to post a notice.

Lastly, I'd be thrilled to hear your reaction to my writing. High school has taught me proper grammar and some rhetorical strategy, but this is my first foray into fictional writing. Even if you only favorite the story, it's still a way of letting me know I'm doing something right!

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next update!

-CTech

Update (7/28): Minor adjustments, some added transitions, and closed a MAJOR plot hole. Thanks for bearing with me while I iron this thing out.

Update (9/15): Changed story name to "Retrograde Shift" from "Shift."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

I awoke to the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the cockpit windshield. Rubbing my eyes, I squinted in the bright light. As my vision adjusted, I sought out the small information display I had consulted earlier. I was pleased to find I had less than an hour until I arrived at my destination, meaning I had slept for several hours. Shrugging off the final dregs of sleep, I decided to familiarize myself with the aircraft I currently occupied.

The cockpit I sat in was relatively small, and it didn't take me long to locate a group of compartments above my head. Inside, I discovered an engineering manual that described the specifications of the aircraft. According to the manual, I sat in the pilot's chair of a "Bullhead," a VTOL airship capable of transporting cargo and passengers. While lacking in firepower or heavy armor, I assumed its high maneuverability made it a versatile addition to any fleet. Reading further, I found that my specific model was equipped with a high-grade Dust crystal for operation.

A more thorough search through the various storage containers in the cockpit rewarded me with the Bullhead's identification numbers and verification codes. While it did not cross my mind when I rocketed out of that detestable facility earlier, without those codes, I likely would have needed to land in hostile airspace. A pilot without an ID would prompt questions, and questions would lead to trouble. Placing the codes on the chair next to me, I thanked the nameless fool that had left them behind.

With a safe landing assured, I turned to the cube I now cradled in my hands. Its black metal faces shone dully in the sunlight, and its red edges glinted with a sharp radiance. Running a finger over its surface, I found it to be entirely smooth, with no indications as to its function. To be honest, it looked rather unimpressive.

Recursive Nature appeared so innocent.

 _Recursive Nature._ The name shot through my mind once again, carrying with it the same sentiments of loyalty and pride as before. My decision to take the cube from the facility had reunited me with some fraction of my being. My action was not a theft, it was a rescue.

I knew that this cube was mine. I knew that I had engineered whatever lay between its metal faces.

Somehow, I knew that it contained a force to be reckoned with.

Since a full examination of Recursive Nature revealed no obvious physical mechanisms, I concluded that its machinery must lay inside. However, when pressing my fingers randomly upon its faces produced no visible results, I flared my nostrils in an angry exhalation. It seemed that the cube's secrets did not want to make themselves known.

Opting instead to gaze out the window at the clouds below, I hummed. I designed this thing, of that I was absolutely sure. Some ghost of a memory assured me that the cube had a purpose.

My purpose.

That thought caused me to frown. What _was_ my purpose? I reflected upon the modicum of memory I had at my disposal. That relatively paltry amount of experience and handful of emotionally-drenched words led me to one inevitable conclusion.

My purpose was to fight.

And so, too, must Recursive Nature's.

Gazing at the cube once more, I pondered its origin, its history. How many battles had we weathered together? How many victories had we shared? How strong was our bond?

I did not know. But I had my suspicions.

Calling up my Aura, I sensed a source of power at the center of Recursive Nature. Faintly, I felt a similar presence behind me, at the core of the Bullhead. Both pulsed with a regular beat.

Dust.

My Semblance activated, shifting the world around me. Observing my surroundings, I found an arrangement that was vastly different than the ones I had encountered at the facility, yet it tickled at my memory all the same. Rather than materializing in a field of flashing connections, I occupied the central position in an ordered array. Banded pillars filled the space at regular intervals, illuminating the area. However, before approaching one, I noticed that whatever force that had controlled my actions before was now quiet, simmering in the back of my thoughts almost beneath my perception. Giving the mental equivalent of a shrug—for, I realized, I had no corporeal form I could discern—I approached the nearest banded stack.

As I drew near, an image of a sword filled my thoughts, placed there by this exotic reality. Trusting in my creation, I shot forward into the column. Immediately, whether by habit or by force, my Semblance deactivated and my perception snapped back to my place in the pilot's chair.

Soft whirring sounds filled the cockpit. Turning my gaze downwards, I watched in amazement as Recursive Nature morphed. Some of its faces retracted inwards while others expanded with mechanical clicks. No longer a mere two-pound cube, Recursive Nature had transformed in seconds from a box to a longsword roughly four feet in length. The sharp blade and wide hilt were black, and a red highlight ran down the center of the blade. Inset in the hilt lay a glowing Dust crystal.

No longer did Recursive Nature appear so innocent.

I whistled. I had just witnessed an engineering marvel. Giving the blade a twirl, I noticed the weight was perfectly balanced, and the hilt fit snugly into my hand. A few seconds passed before it truly sank in: that _I_ had created the weapon in my palm.

To say I was thrilled would be an understatement.

With a quick application of my Semblance, I soon held a laser gun. Not wanting to blast a hole into the windshield, I reactivated my Semblance. I watched as Recursive Nature collapsed into a functional wristwatch.

I was amused to discover it also doubled as a fitness tracker.

Content to let my weapon reside on my wrist as a timepiece, I shifted my attention back to the information display. About fifteen minutes had passed since I woke up, and I could see the city of Vale shining in the evening light.

 _Vale_. Home.

Throwing on a pair of headphones hanging from the ceiling, I waited until Vale ATC chirped in my ears. Routine identification followed, and I soon found myself approaching the runway of Vale's airport. A use of my Semblance activated the landing struts, and the Bullhead set me down lightly in a nearby hangar. Taking nothing else with me, I disembarked from the Bullhead. As my boots touched solid ground, I spied two figures standing on the tarmac close by. A once-over revealed the two were not airport employees.

It seemed I had a welcoming party.

Approaching them, I studied the pair. Closest to me stood a white-haired man, a cane in his left hand and a coffee mug in his right. His simple outfit of a pressed black suit and a green turtleneck suggested an appreciation for dress without an obsession with his appearance. A small pair of dark glasses were perched on his nose. He stood with a confident air, one likely backed by years of experience. Even as he sipped at his beverage, his brown eyes studied me with an unnerving ability to dissect. I knew in a split second that this man's mind was his greatest ally.

His companion, stationed to his left, was a bespectacled blonde. A white blouse, slim black pants, and a purple-fringed cape constituted her ensemble. Her arms were crossed, and she grasped a riding crop in her right hand. She also gave off an aura of confidence, but where the white-haired man's gaze had analyzed, her's pierced. I instinctively wished to squirm under her stare, so I opted to focus on the man instead.

Bringing his mug down, the man swallowed and then cleared his throat. "Good evening, and welcome to Vale. My name is Ozpin, and I am the headmaster of Beacon Academy," he said.

 _Beacon_. A warm feeling flooded through me.

Gesturing towards my Bullhead with his mug, Ozpin said, "Seems you hitched quite the ride back to Vale. Glad to see Atlesian hospitality treated you well."

 _Atlas_. A familiar emblem flashed through my mind, and a cocktail of emotions arose within me, too complex to identify in a single second. I pushed them away even as the blonde spoke.

"While we are certainly relieved to see you return safely to the kingdom of Vale, we must get you to Beacon immediately. We have no time to waste," she said, a hint of urgency coloring her tone.

"Now Glynda, that's no way to treat a friend," Ozpin told the blonde. Turning to me, he asked, "Are you hungry? There's a seafood restaurant nearby that I've heard wonderful things about."

My stomach growled loudly. I offered Ozpin a sheepish smile. "I'd like that a lot, actually."

Ozpin nodded. "Very well. We have a car at the airport entrance that can take us there. Please join us for dinner, Phoenix."

I blinked. Ozpin know my name. I suspected I had ties to the pair in front of me, but hearing my name pass the man's lips cemented my suspicions. All of a sudden, I felt excitement and anxiety in equal parts.

Ozpin knew who I was, and I did not. My whisper of recognition for the man did little to calm me. After all, I was in a unique position that I would never find myself in for the rest of my life.

At least, I certainly hoped so.

Ozpin spun crisply on his heels, and Glynda cast an expectant look my way. I followed and soon fell into step with the blonde. My measured steps belied my racing mind. Any answers I had just received only spawned more questions. I struggled to arrest my thoughts and only succeeded through a massive application of willpower. With my psyche finally calmed, I turned my focus to the two walking with me.

I had a dinner to attend.

* * *

"Phoenix Hayes. Aged 18. Student at Beacon. Technological Semblance. Weapon named 'Recursive Nature.' Intelligent. Fiery. Brave." Glynda looked above the rims of her glasses at me. Her stare hardened until I gave a nod.

The woman certainly did not mince words.

"Glynda, this is dinner. _Not_ an interrogation," Ozpin chided gently. Although the woman gave a scoff, she closed the file she had read from and stored it under her plate.

I gave the headmaster a thankful look. He replied with a smile. "Story time can wait, Phoenix. For now, enjoy your meal." Turning his gaze towards his companion, he said, "I'm sure your journey has been a long one."

Glynda rolled her eyes, causing me to suppress a grin. I did not need that woman's ire directed at me.

Now that Ozpin had mollified the blonde, I continued to shovel salmon into my mouth. Fresh off the grill, the aromas from the fish and the lemon reduction drizzled on it made me realize just how hungry I was. My journey from the facility had taken many hours, and who knew when my last meal was.

When I scooped the final piece of fish into my mouth, Glynda's file magically reappeared. As soon as the plates were cleared by the waiter, Glynda started where she had left off.

"So, Mr. Hayes, what happened in Atlas?"

I looked to Ozpin. He merely nodded, as if he wanted the question answered himself. That was understandable; if one of my students appeared at an airport in a stolen Atlesian craft, I know I'd be curious as well.

I cleared my throat, gathering my thoughts. I knew I could trust them, but I wasn't sure how much of the story I owed them.

Hell, I'd say they owed me the greater one.

"I awoke in an Atlesian facility of some kind. I managed to escape my cell and make my way to the aircraft hangar. Along the way, I disabled four armed guards and recovered Recursive Nature. Amongst a firefight, I piloted a Bullhead away from the facility, the very same craft you saw me arrive in." I told my story quickly. I suspected that if I had told it any other way, the blonde across the table would have scolded me.

Ozpin took a sip from his recently refilled mug, seemingly in contemplation. When he set his cup down, he scanned my face for several seconds—searching for what, I did not know.

"An interesting tale, to say the least." He paused before asking, "How did you end up in that facility?"

I decided to be honest. "That's what I'd like to know, Professor. I awoke with no memories—total amnesia, aside from a few words."

Flickers of emotion passed over both faces across from me, although Ozpin's disappeared too quickly for me to analyze. Glynda, on the other hand, sported worry for several seconds, before settling her gaze upon the headmaster.

"You truly do not remember anything at all?"

I shook my head but held my tongue. I was interested in what the man had to say.

Ozpin hummed. "A most interesting turn of events." After a short pause, he set an electronic device on the table, retrieved from somewhere on his person. A few taps on its screen caused a holographic display to flicker to life. Turning to me, he said, "Let me show you the world of Remnant."

With his hologram as an aide, Ozpin showed me humanity's long struggle to survive. He showed me the creatures of Grimm, the bone-plated enemies of all humans and faunus. He showed me the triumphs and tribulations of Huntsmen and Huntresses, locked in a perpetual battle against the monsters of the dark.

He showed me Beacon Academy.

When he finished, Ozpin pocketed his device and turned to his companion. "Glynda will take things from here," he said.

Glynda reopened her file with an efficient flick of the wrist. "Phoenix Hayes, student at Beacon. His freshman year at the Academy, Phoenix Hayes was assigned to team APCT, pronounced 'apricot.' APCT performed well, maintaining a high level of achievement in class and on the dueling floor."

Turning a page, she continued, "Sophomore year, APCT accepted a mission in the southern portion of the Atlesian continent. The objective: to thin out an unusual surge in Grimm activity. APCT arrived at the target location on schedule, a thick forest. The team quickly went to work, slaying any Grimm they could find. In short, the mission proceeded without a hitch. That is, until they arrived at the extraction point.

"Waiting for their Bullhead home, APCT was attacked by a massive Grimm. Members of APCT could not identify its species, but one feature etched its way into their memories.

"The Grimm's face was half bone, half machine."

 _Run_. A spike of fear paralyzed me. Never before had weakness so gripped me.

 _Hide_. My breath hitched. I felt my pulse quicken, the blood roaring in my ears.

 _Survive_. I was reduced to that primordial desire, one ingrained so deeply within me I was powerless against it. All of my battle experience fled in the face of such an enemy. My team whirled around me, their efforts futile against that horrid and detestable abomination. Red eyes fixed upon me, and I froze.

It sprung forward, jaws wide open, hungering for—

"Phoenix!"

My memory slipped, and the pictures faded. With them went the oppressive fear, yet it took a full minute for my heart to return to a normal rhythm.

"Sorry," I said meekly, staring at the tablecloth in front of me. Silence fell over the table, one I gratefully utilized to pull my emotions under control.

When I felt steady enough to continue, I raised my eyes. The view I found shocked me: Glynda had lost some of her color, clearly distressed, and even Ozpin's calm façade had cracked, with traces of what could be concern lacing his features.

"I'm okay, I just needed a minute," I said, hoping to reassure the two. Ozpin gave a small nod, his mien rearranging into a slight frown, while Glynda muttered an apology.

It felt so strange. These two cared for me, or at least for my well-being, and I hardly knew my own name.

Taking a shaky breath, I asked, "What else?"

Glynda blinked, probably not expecting me to want to continue. She raised an eyebrow at me, but when I did not reply, she returned to her notes.

"The newly discovered Grimm fought APCT with nearly unparalleled strength for its size. To make matters worse, the robotic components of the Grimm appeared to influence the Grimm's activity, although to what extent, we are unsure."

I quelled another bout of terror. I needed to hear what happened to me. To APCT.

"With Auras running low and physical exhaustion setting in from a long mission, APCT soon found themselves on the back foot with nowhere to run. Desperation began to set in. Then, Phoenix Hayes activated his Semblance as a last resort effort.

"He attempted to control the cyborg Grimm."

 _Fear. Terror. Despair._

 _Run. Hide. Survive._

I gasped, interrupting Glynda's account when a greater emotional storm hit me. The feelings bombarded me, and the images of the battle reappeared, startling in their clarity. My chest tightened and my throat constricted. This time, though, I was ready for it. Seconds passed before I felt calm enough to continue. When I finally steadied myself, I nodded to the blonde.

"The Grimm appeared to have collapsed in agony following Phoenix's usage of his Semblance. It released a visceral roar that shook bones. Then, after a final display of resistance, the Grimm met its fate in an explosion of red energy. However, the cyborg Grimm's dying call served as a summons to its brethren. Beowolves and other Grimm closed in on the recent grave, vengeance likely on their primitive minds.

"According to members of APCT, the explosion tossed the four teammates into various directions. While three members were merely stunned and regrouped at the rendezvous point with little trouble, Phoenix did not appear. Attempts to contact him via the team's comm link were not answered. The three sent a scout into the forest in hopes of catching sight of him.

"However, with the Bullhead setting down at the extraction point and hordes of Grimm bounding towards them, the three remaining members of APCT were forced to abandon their search and board the aircraft. As the Bullhead pulled away, APCT did not observe any signs of Phoenix.

"Finally away from the Grimm, APCT's leader noticed that Phoenix's mission communicator was out of range. Given that the communicators had a maximum signal range of 20 miles, this newfound information suggested Phoenix had left the area. Phoenix was deemed MIA.

"Later examination of communicator metadata at Beacon revealed that Phoenix had indeed traveled outside the 20 mile range following the cyborg Grimm's demise. Phoenix was confirmed MIA. When they arrived, the remaining three members of APCT debriefed with Professor Ozpin, whose next action was to request a search party from Atlas Academy."

"The search party returned with no trace of Phoenix whatsoever. But, with no leads, the ongoing search for him was futile. He may never be seen again."

With that foreboding note, Glynda closed her folder and placed it in front of her, hands clasped atop it. I could clearly see her knuckles become white. Chancing a glance at Ozpin, I was met by his cool gaze. "Yet here he is," he mused.

The events of the tale—my tale—filled my thoughts and left me speechless. Each word of that tale rang true deep within me, my veiled experience confirming the recounting of my harrowing adventure.

My emotional roller-coaster ride was proof of that.

"How long was I gone?" My voice broke the silence, timorous and unsteady as it was. Belatedly, I noted that Ozpin had not touched his coffee since Glynda had began, nor had his gaze left my face. When a reply did not come, I repeated my question, my voice stronger this time.

"Three months," replied Ozpin. "But how you ended up in Atlas's hands, I cannot fathom."

Ozpin finished and took a long draw from his mug. A sense of finality settled over the table, and I felt that this conversation was over, at least for now. Moments passed; the professors across from me volunteered no words, so neither did I.

The bill was soundlessly paid for. The lack of conversation allowed me the time to digest what I had heard. My actions at the facility, Ozpin's description of Remnant, and Glynda's narrative supported the claim that I was trained to fight, yet the holes in my memory disconcerted me. An entire life—an entire history—lay behind a shroud in my brain I was unsure would ever lift.

I left the restaurant with a hollow feeling in my chest.

Taking a seat in the back of a van, we navigated Vale's streets smoothly, guided by Glynda's careful ministrations at the wheel. Soon, we arrived at an air ferry service. Parking the car and walking through the small building, we took our seats in a compact aircraft. A soft female voice announced that our destination was Beacon Academy. With a clunk and a hiss, we were in the air. I stared silently out the window as the roofs and spires of Vale proper receded into the distance.

"Normally, students returning from a mission will rejoin their team upon arrival at the campus. However, given your… particular set of circumstances, Glynda and I felt it would be best for you to stay the night in the medical wing," Ozpin said.

I was a bit annoyed at that. Although Atlas wasn't too kind to me, it seemed they took care of me to some degree during my three-month stay. I felt fine, just tired. Also, my team would almost certainly be relieved at my return, and I wanted to see them as well.

Ozpin must have seen the frustration on my face, for he said, "I understand you wish to reunite with your team. However, they have not yet been informed of your return home. Given that it's late, I recommend we wait until the morning."

My irritation dissipated. My teammates thought I was still MIA. Surprising them with my reappearance would be quite the shock. Ozpin was right, best to wait until tomorrow.

"I'll send your team to the medical wing in the morning. They can give you a tour of the campus and get you reacclimatized to life here at Beacon. However, we still have much to discuss, Phoenix. I'd like to see you tomorrow afternoon."

I turned my head towards the headmaster. His glasses glinted in the early moonlight, and the light cast shadows onto his features. His façade, as usual, revealed no hints as to what he was thinking. At my answering nod, the man swiveled to face the doors, sipping his mug.

I returned to my idle watching, my stare settling upon the moon. Remnant's only satellite shone brightly in the nascent night sky, its rightmost fringe showing the beginnings of its entropic cycle. Small lunar pieces floated near the greater body, held in place by the invisible strings of gravity. Its light washed the water beneath me with a milky glow.

A strange feeling filled my chest, one I could not pinpoint or identify. I let it swirl about, neither feeding it nor snuffing it out. One's emotions usually were a response to one's surroundings, and mine followed suit: unique events engendered unique feelings.

Before I knew it, the airship landed, and the three of us traversed Beacon's extensive campus. Large stone arches lined the sides of an impressive walkway, leading to a collection of buildings. A colossal structure loomed over everything else, slightly intimidating in the moonlight. At the top, green points of light shone brightly, giving the campus its name. As we walked, we passed a statue topping a fountain. The statue proclaimed to all of humanity's valor in the face of the Grimm enemy. At the powerful statement that was Beacon Academy, I gave a low whistle, prompting Glynda to huff and Ozpin to chuckle.

No sooner had we arrived at the medical wing then did I find myself in a bed, a nurse hovering at my side. Satisfied with my installment, Ozpin and Glynda wished me good night and departed, their heels clicking on the hard granite floors. With their absence, I was left to my thoughts.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

* * *

A/N: After the action-packed first chapter, I felt a slower, more expositional chapter was needed. To those readers that have been with me since the very beginning, I edited a few details about the fight in the forest to aid in plot development/structure.

Thanks for reading. Until next time!

-CTech

Update (7/28): Minor adjustments, some added transitions, and closed a MAJOR plot hole. Thanks for bearing with me while I iron this thing out.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

A sharp voice shook me from my slumber. The voice—female—sounded exasperated, or at least annoyed. A male baritone shot back, resolution coloring his tone. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel tension in the air. I didn't want to involve myself in this conversation, at least not yet. I feigned sleep.

"I understand you want to wake him, but we don't know the extent of his amnesia. The risks are too high," spoke the baritone.

"The chart only says amnesia, and Ozpin told us he can still fight. What's more, he's physically fine, Aura's at 100%," said the female voice.

"But who knows where his psyche is at?"

"If he can fight, his psyche seems okay to me."

"It's not that…I'm worried how he'll react when he sees us."

The female scoffed. "He'll be fine, we'll make introductions. He's not crazy."

Silence followed.

"Adrian, I don't want to lose this opportunity," the female said, her tone somewhat softer.

"If I may," interjected a third voice, a lighter tenor. "There's a compromise to be had here. How's about we wake Phoenix and ask him which he'd like to do?"

The female hummed, and I could hear her smirk. The next to speak, however, was the first male voice—Adrian. "Don't think you've won, Terra."

"Oh, but I have."

"He's impulsive, but not _that_ impulsive. I know him better than you."

Impulsive? Me? My spike of irritation at the comment disappeared as I recalled slamming open the door at the facility and recovering Recursive Nature without a single moment's hesitation.

Yeah, I suppose impulsive was an apt descriptor.

"Besides," Adrian said. A pause ensued, then a weight hit my chest, causing my eyes to flutter open. "He's already awake."

As my eyes focused in the harsh morning sunlight, I saw three figures standing at the foot of my bed—my teammates, if Ozpin was true to his word. I was excited to finally meet them.

The location of his voice pegged Adrian as the figure on my left, his blond hair disheveled and his blue eyes giving me a sharp stare. To my right, dark brown curls covered part of Terra's tanned complexion, her visible hazel eye sporting surprise. To the middle stood a burly, dark-haired young man. His purple eyes shone in the sunlight.

"How'd you know?" I asked, opening the burlap sack on my chest.

The unnamed male and Terra looked to Adrian, who merely shrugged. "Lucky guess."

The one in the middle gave a sharp laugh, while Terra rolled her eyes. "Enjoy your fun while you can, Adrian," she said.

As Adrian and Terra continued their back-and-forth, I observed the bag's contents, now arrayed on my bedsheets. Various arm-guards, armor plates, and ammunition magazines rested on my legs. The armor looked spotless, clearly well-maintained, and the ammunition magazines appeared brand new.

"So, Terra, what's this opportunity?" I asked. The conversation between the two outside members ceased and refocused towards me.

"The thirty-eighth Vytal Festival will be held in a month in Atlas. Qualification matches take place this week," Terra said.

"And the Vytal Festival is…" I trailed off, hoping to prompt an explanation.

Adrian supplied one. "The Vytal Festival is a gathering of all four Kingdoms of Remnant—Vale, Vacuo, Mistral, and Atlas—with the goal of celebrating peace and strength. Parades and galas are a given, but the crown jewel of the Festival is the combat tournament. Teams of fighters from each combat school vie for the prize of being the greatest Huntsman-in-training in all of Remnant."

"So, our chance to compete in this inter-Kingdom competition comes today?"

Adrian nodded. "Exactly. Goodwitch is facilitating qualification matches today. However, once a team enters, that exact collection of fighters must progress through each stage. There have been teams in the past that have lost a member to the Grimm, so teams of three are not an uncommon sight at the Vytal Festival."

"And if you three advanced without me, I couldn't fight in the tournament."

"That's why we need you to strap that armor on and follow us to the dueling hall," Terra said.

My first instinct was to join the three across from me and fight. After all, my fighting abilities weren't lost with my memory, and Recursive Nature made me somewhat adaptable. Further, if I opted to sit out, then my team would be at a severe disadvantage. Three combatants against the normal four did not bode well for my team.

But as I swept my gaze across my teammates, a counterargument surfaced. I didn't even know my teammates's names—how could I possibly fight an unknown enemy with an equally unknown ally? I would be a hindrance on the battlefield, an accident waiting to happen.

I could either shoot my team in the foot or play Vacuo Roulette.

"I'm in."

* * *

Team APCT made good time across the campus green. Terra took point and guided us towards the amphitheater-turned-dueling-hall. Caelum—I finally learned his name—typed onto a digital device, likely alerting Glynda of our imminent arrival. Adrian and I occupied the rear, the former bringing me up to speed on the basics of each's fighting style.

"Let's start with the 'A' of the team, yours truly. My weapon is named 'Riptide,' a quarterstaff and sniper rifle combination that allows me to view the battle as a whole. I'm the team strategist, and I often make commands from the edges of a fight."

"And your Semblance?"

Adrian paused. "It's a mental Semblance. Not illusions or anything like that, but not enough to have a great effect on the battlefield." He seemed reluctant to continue. I let it lie.

"Next, the team's 'P.' Your weapon gives you an adaptable edge. I don't know how much you've experimented with Recursive Nature, but you prefer your longsword.

"Caelum, our 'C,' battles with his violin and bow, named 'Melody' and 'Harmony' respectively. When Aura is channeled into the violin, it can emit sound waves capable of delivering varying types of force, from broad sweeps to precise strikes, depending on the pitch. However, as physics dictates, sound waves lose power the farther away they are from their source, so Caelum cannot function as a long-range fighter. In hand-to-hand, Harmony can double as a rapier. His Semblance allows him to bend light, so he's very difficult to sneak up on.

"Finally, our 'T' prefers close combat, aided by her monkey wrench bludgeon 'Brisk Solution.' If no one is close enough to clobber, Brisk Solution can transform into a shotgun. Terra can dish out plenty of damage, and her Semblance, force projection, offers her some amount of cover."

"Force projection?"

"She can create small, nearly indestructible structures in space. However, once they're made, they can't move, and she must supply more Aura the greater the force applied to one. They're great for stopping bullets or changing direction but impractical as a long-term shield."

At first blush, our team looked well-rounded. Long-range, short-range, and melee all had their respective warriors. I remained in between them all, a true jack-of-all-trades.

"Who's our enemy?"

Adrian shook his head. "The process is randomized. Professor Goodwitch is about to assign dueling pairs as we speak."

I adjusted an arm-guard absentmindedly as we ran. The buildings and dormitories surrounded us as we jogged past, the gothic architecture giving off an air of importance. I wondered which one was our dormitory, which ones held the collective history of team APCT.

"So," Adrian began. "What's it like to know nothing?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know nothing, I know _almost_ nothing."

"Technicalities, technicalities," Adrian said. "But really, how are you feeling?"

"Physically, I'm fine. Mentally? I'm not sure," I replied. "I got flashes of our battle in the forest at dinner last night."

"I see," he said simply. He paused, then asked, "And what happened afterwards? Where did you end up?" Adrian's tone placed more weight on the question than appeared at face value. I guessed he felt a sense of responsibility when I disappeared without a trace. I needed to reassure him.

"I woke up in an Atlesian facility. I think they got a hold of me somehow, but I'm not sure. Just know I wouldn't have gone willingly."

Adrian seemed to relax a bit. The conversation over, we focused on navigating to the dueling hall.

Soon, we entered the main thoroughfare of campus. Darting to our left, we ran past flag-draped lampposts and the fountain. Upon reaching the heavy oak doors, Terra shouldered them open. Groans sounded from the metal hinges. We filed in.

The hall was as impressive as its stone façade outside. High, arching ceilings and large picture windows allowed natural light to diffuse through the amphitheater. In front of me was a raised circular stage. Ringing the stage, maybe fifteen feet off the ground, were spectator seats, where my classmates currently sat.

All eyes turned to us.

"Welcome to the dueling hall, Mr. Hayes. I'm glad you could join us for today's matches," said Professor Goodwitch from the stage. At her greeting, murmurs broke out among the students assembled.

Surprised to see me, no doubt.

"Please join your classmates in the seating area. The matches will begin shortly."

Adrian led us up to the seats. Once we found a suitable bench, my leader gave a command to Terra and Caelum. Without a word, they hurried out of the hall.

"They'll be back shortly with our weapons," he explained. Motioning to my wrist, he said, "Looks like you have yours already."

I looked at my wristwatch. Recursive Nature was about to make its debut.

Cradling a tablet, Professor Goodwitch turned to address the students. "Good morning," she said. A few students mumbled a reply. "Today marks the beginning of the qualification process for the Vytal Festival. Over the coming two weeks, we hope to assemble the best collection of teams for the combat tournament in Atlas."

A few taps on her tablet summoned a large holographic display behind her, visible to all students. "A total of thirty-two teams compete in the tournament, with each combat school supplying eight. Unlike other schools, Beacon selects its teams through a year-conscious process, meaning each team competes against teams of their own year. Intra-year fights occur during the first week." Diagrams appeared on the display behind Professor Goodwitch, illustrating her points.

"When two teams from each year have been selected, the remaining eight teams face off to determine seeding. Inter-year fights take place in the second week of qualification matches. While seeding usually aligns with experience, with four-year teams taking the top two seeds and first-years occupying the bottom two, there have been instances of upsets in previous years."

Terra and Caelum took their spots next to Adrian, soundlessly handing their leader his quarterstaff and some armor plating. The three assembled their gear while Professor Goodwitch continued her monologue.

"As with all Vytal Festivals, I wish you luck. Know that Beacon has prepared you well. If you continue to the tournament, remember that you represent the finest academy in all of Remnant. Victory is yours for the taking."

A smattering of applause signaled the end of Professor Goodwitch's speech. As the applause faded, the professor turned to face the display. "I shall begin the randomization process," she said, attending to her tablet. Team names began to cycle on the holographic screen, much like a slot machine. The prize, however, was not Lien, but a battle.

My kind of a prize.

The display flashed. The spinning array of names on the left had stopped. Team BGDY was fated for the first match. "Team 'burgundy' will make a formidable opponent. Bianca White, Griffin Woods, Dylan Moore, and Yara Kouri, please take your place on the dueling floor." Four figures, two male and two female, descended the stairs to the stage. All four watched the holographic projection, eager to discover their adversary. Professor Goodwitch touched her tablet, and the wheel of names on the right slowed.

APCT stared back at me.

"Their challenger is… team APCT. Adrian Douglas, Phoenix Hayes, Caelum Carr, and Terra Carbone, please take your place on the dueling floor."

A familiar rush of adrenaline flowed through my veins. A glance at the rest of my team showed similar game faces. Even Caelum, who I took to be a happy-go-lucky type, sported a serious demeanor. We rose as one and walked to the stage.

I cracked my knuckles. It was show time.

* * *

After a spiel about battle etiquette and non-lethal blows, Professor Goodwitch allowed the two teams a few minutes to plan. As ready as I was to fight, I did not know my opponent. Given Adrian's calm mien, I suspected he did.

"Who're we up against?" I asked my leader.

"Team BGDY, known for their better-than-average battle record. Their leader, Bianca White, fights with a gravity Dustcaster. Her Semblance hasn't yet been confirmed, as it isn't flashy, but it likely complements her choice in weapon." I looked across the stage and saw Bianca twirling her staff, conversing with her teammates. Her white battle outfit and golden armor pieces shone in the bright stage lights.

"Next, Griffin Woods uses a ball-and-chain weapon. He's a brute, and I think that his size allowed him to skirt more advanced Aura training. As such, his Semblance has not been unlocked, or at least isn't effective enough to be used in battle." Clad in knight's armor, Griffin looked imposing. He towered over his leader and sported a scowl.

"Third, where Griffin acts like a Nevermore, Dylan fights like a hummingbird—swift, but ultimately lacking strength. He prefers his double pistols, but he can be a bother at close quarters. His Semblance seems like teleportation, as he can pop into and out of space, but after some study, I've concluded it has something to do with time, not space. I'm not entirely sure what it is, though." Dylan, tiny in comparison to his giant of a teammate, fiddled with his pistols.

"Finally, Yara Kouri fights with fans. She's a great hand-to-hand brawler, and her fans allow her to channel her Semblance, wind control, to toss around lighter enemies. She lacks range, though, so I'll focus on taking her out with Riptide." Yara opened and closed her fans several times while I studied her—a tic, no doubt. She wore a flowing cotton gown, sashed at the waist with a thin belt.

"Terra, focus on Griffin. Caelum, Dylan. And Phoenix, you take Bianca."

"Yes, sir," I said, giving him a mock salute.

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Save it, Phoenix. We have to win first."

"I don't intend to lose," I replied. I took Terra's smirk as a sign of agreement, while Caelum gave a chuckle. Activating my Semblance, Recursive Nature left my wrist and fell into my palm, whirring as it morphed. When it fell silent, I gave the broadsword a spin.

"Seems like we're ready then," said our leader. He smiled. "Let's fight."

"Your time for preparation is up," said Professor Goodwitch. The hall fell silent in anticipation. BGDY faced us, their faces set for battle. "Remember, when a fighter's Aura has dropped into the red, he or she may not fight any longer and must leave the battlefield," the blonde reminded us.

A bell chimed. "Begin."

Immediately, Griffin charged forward, swinging his chain mace above his head. Dylan ran behind him, while Bianca and Yara stayed put. Terra took point and met Griffin's charge, brandishing Brisk Solution. Arriving a moment later, Caelum deflected blows from Dylan, Harmony in its rapier form. The sound of metal meeting metal sounded through the hall.

Rounding the skirmish, I heard Riptide's report from behind me. A bullet whizzed past, and Yara intercepted the round with a flick of her fan. With an application of what I assumed to be her Semblance, she jumped halfway across the dueling floor, likely to trade blows with Adrian. My gaze fell back to Bianca. She shot me a wicked smile.

My battle instincts fired up, my vision narrowing in on my quarry. The noises of gunfire and brawling from behind me faded to nothing. They did not help me here. I bore down on Bianca, closing in with Aura-assisted speed.

I presented Recursive Nature. She presented her staff.

It was show time.

With a yell, I swung my sword horizontally. She parried with the shaft of her weapon, stopping my blow entirely.

She was strong, I'd give her that.

Pushing my blade aside, she answered with a strike of her own from above. I blocked it with the cross-guard of my sword, my arm jarring from the force. Directing her staff to the side with my cross-guard, I threw my left hand in a fist towards her midsection. Bianca jumped backwards, my fist missing her by an inch.

As we separated, we each took time to study each other. She glared at me with a cold detachment, one I knew was tempered by the battlefield. I only hoped she was more amiable off the dueling floor. I had to rediscover my friends, after all.

I gazed at her weapon. Her staff was a thick pole, topped with a Dust crystal. Designs snaked their way from top to bottom, likely allowing her to channel the power of the crystal. Currently, however, the glyphs lay dormant.

Then, Bianca spun her weapon towards me, the crystal and patterns on the shaft glowing. All of a sudden, a force impacted me and sent me flying through the air. The ceiling and the floor traded places, becoming a blur. Disorientation overtook me, almost causing me to lose my battle calm. But not quite.

I threw my arms outward, slowing my spin. Twisting my body, I hit the ground on my shoulder, my momentum carrying me through a roll. Jumping up, I turned around, only to be met with a staff in the ribs. As the wind left my lungs, Bianca flicked her staff upwards. The weapon glowed once more, and I followed suit.

In my flight, I glanced at the holographic screen. My Aura was at 82% of its maximum, while Bianca's taunted me with a flawless 100%.

Time to change that.

Bianca waited below me, her staff at the ready. Even as she swung the staff downwards, I braced for the inevitable hard impact. I accelerated to the floor at a great speed, but I met the floor with Aura-infused legs. I shot Bianca a smirk and stepped towards her.

Only to fall on my face.

As I attempted to scrabble to my feet, my mind raced. I was not a klutz. Surely I didn't fall due to a misstep. Her staff didn't light up, though, so it was not the Dustcaster. With human error and weapons not responsible for my fall, that left one thing.

Her Semblance. Adrian said it complemented her weapon. But her Semblance—assuming that's what caused me to face-plant—didn't throw me around, it wasn't forceful. It wasn't flashy, it was subtle.

The ground beneath me felt like ice, slippery and slick, not like the cement I knew it was. I couldn't even push myself to my knees. How could this be?

I sensed Bianca approach, followed by a heavy blow to my back. A strike to the head with the butt of her staff sent my vision swimming. I tried to regain my senses, only to feel myself leave the ground and impact the wall on the side of the stage. I fell to the ground in a heap.

I sucked in a lungful of air and shook my head. When my vision cleared, I saw Bianca running towards me, staff pointed straight at me. The holographic projection behind her showed my Aura at 39%.

A crippling headache hindered my thinking. However, even through the haze of pain, I came to two conclusions.

First, I was being beaten, badly. My opponent was not one to press her advantages lightly, and she kept me on the back foot from the very beginning.

Second, her Semblance was the ability to control friction. I belatedly remembered feeling the concrete return to its normal coarseness before she launched me across the dueling floor. Her weapon combined with her Semblance made for a deadly combination.

Time to change tactics.

I peered at my adversary as she approached. She readied her staff, and I shifted my sword to intercept the blow. Her staff impacted the metal of the blade, and the metal rang with the force of the hit. As she pulled her weapon back for another strike, I darted forwards, hoping to stab her with my sword.

Only to have my feet slip out from under me. But I was ready for that.

I threw my right arm downwards. The tip of my blade cut into the concrete. The ground beneath my feet gave me no purchase, but I paid it no mind. Instead, I pulled myself forwards, gyrating over Recursive Nature, and flew towards Bianca. Her eyes widened as my foot planted itself into her stomach. Her response, a weak staff strike, hit the flat of Recursive Nature's blade, deflected in full. Curling up, I brought my left hand around and buried my fist into her nose.

I chanced a glance upwards. Phoenix—39%, Bianca—87%.

Time to press my advantage.

Bianca's staff flared to life, but instead of throwing me around like a rag doll, it rocketed her backwards. A little bit of distance was fine by me, as Recursive Nature had already begun to shift into a laser gun. I steadied my finger over the trigger and lined up my shot.

When Bianca slid to a stop, I fired three times. Red bolts of energy flew towards her at blinding speed. Two hit her squarely in the chest, but she absorbed the third with her staff. Even as I continued to fire away, she scrambled to her feet, only managing to block about half my shots. I felt no amount of satisfaction as her Aura dropped, on course to match mine.

Until, of course, I was launched skywards.

I cursed under my breath. That pesky staff would have to go. I couldn't risk her throwing me every which way on a whim. As she tossed me away from her, I receded into Recursive Nature with my Semblance.

When Professor Goodwitch had readied the randomization process, I took time to study all the "modules," or the banded pillars that contained the different weapon designs for Recursive Nature. While I seemed to have created a wide variety of weapons and tools, I considered a specific one for the task at hand.

As I met the ground and performed a backwards somersault, I brandished a grappling hook on my right arm. The contraption was strapped to my wrist, buttons for its operation fitted snugly in my palm. Smirking, I ran towards Bianca.

She glared at me with an angry fire. When I felt the concrete turn to ice beneath me, I fired the grappling hook at the concrete wall behind her. The hook embedded into the concrete, and, with a push of a button, the chain pulled me across the hall. A shout of surprise sounded below me as I flew overhead.

Soon, my boots found the wall. Another button press retracted the hook, and a push from my legs sent me flying towards Bianca. With a yell, I activated the grappling hook. The black metal claw sped at her. Hoping to deflect the hook, Bianca raised her staff. But as the claw grasped the shaft of her weapon, she realized her mistake.

I recalled the claw, wrenching the Dustcaster out of Bianca's grip in the process. When the hook fully retracted, I turned my arm to the side and fired. At the zenith of the hook's arc across the hall, I let the staff fall. It clattered on the ground, many yards away.

I faced Bianca with a devilish grin. She faced me with a rictus of pure fury.

Phoenix—37%. Bianca—51%.

And weaponless.

Recursive Nature already forming a broadsword in my hand, I charged forward. A war cry escaped my lips, and I fell upon Bianca, swinging madly. She blocked only a few strikes of my fusillade, Aura glowing from her arms. When her Semblance caused Recursive Nature to leave my grasp, I tackled her to the ground, fists flying. I pummeled her, intent to end this battle now.

No longer was I cool or collected. No longer did I bide my time, waiting for a counterattack.

I was a force unleashed, a beast bred for the battlefield. Logic had no place when victory required unrelenting strength.

Somehow, the modicum of rationality still within me caused my eyes to track upwards, towards the holographic display. With a start, I read that Bianca's Aura was at 3%, well into the red. I ceased my attack and jumped off of her.

She had been defeated. And yet I had kept swinging. An animalistic sense of pride and satisfaction overwhelmed me, only to be beaten back by shame and guilt.

I had almost hurt a classmate. A glance to Professor Goodwitch revealed a harsh look from the blonde.

Yep, I was in trouble.

But I still had a battle to win.

As I retrieved Recursive Nature, I surveyed the other Aura meters. Out of team BGDY, only Dylan and Griffin remained. Team APCT had three members active, as Caelum's Aura was at 9%, disqualifying him from fighting any further. Mine sat at 35%, Adrian's was at 42%, and Terra's was at 24% and dropping. I located Terra to find her battling with Griffin. The brute's size had Terra at a disadvantage, and it showed, with her retreating a couple of steps every few seconds.

"Phoenix! Get over here!" called Adrian. He had his quarterstaff at the ready, trading blows with Dylan. While my leader appeared to be winning, Dylan's Semblance kept Adrian unable to tuck away a victory.

I dashed towards him. As I ran, I saw Dylan jump into the air and then vanish. Adrian gripped Riptide and balanced on the balls of his feet. A few seconds later, Dylan reappeared, continuing his flight through the air. He slashed at my leader with a twin pair of daggers, jumped backwards, and then vanished again.

The boy had an interesting Semblance, alright. I assumed he could essentially "remove" himself from time for a few seconds. Invisibility wouldn't keep his velocity vector the same in midair.

Coming to the spot where Dylan had last disappeared, I readied Recursive Nature. I counted off four seconds before the boy popped back into reality.

Right into my waiting blade.

Dylan collapsed onto the ground. A pommel strike onto the back of his head finished him off, his Aura finally below the threshold. Adrian and I traded nods and smiles. We had this match in the bag now.

A cry from Terra signaled her lack of Aura to continue. A reference to the holographic screen showed that Griffin had 23% of his Aura remaining.

"I'll provide sniper fire. Engage him in hand-to-hand," said Adrian.

I quirked an eyebrow at my leader. "Seriously, him?"

"You'll do fine," he said. "Just watch out for the mace."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever you say, oh glorious leader of mine."

Adrian just chuckled and folded Riptide into a sniper rifle.

I ran towards Griffin, Riptide's report sounding from behind me. The brute lifted his chain mace above his head, preparing a downwards strike. As I drew near, I brought Recursive Nature upwards, intercepting his blow. However, even with time to prepare, his spiked ball forced my blade backwards, and the mace crashed into my shoulder. I winced at the strength behind the impact.

 _You'll do fine_ , he says. _Just watch out for the mace_ , he says.

Whatever.

Bullets pinged off of Griffin's armor, wearing away at his Aura, courtesy of Adrian. Another strike came from my opponent, this time from below. I deflected the spiked ball away, only to earn a fist in the face. My vision blurry, I stabbed forwards, scoring a glancing blow on his thigh. My opponent merely grunted and slammed his chain mace into my side, throwing me several feet away.

I rubbed my side, feeling a ghost of the weapon's force. Even without looking up, I knew my Aura was in the red. It was up to Adrian now.

Another report from Riptide came, and then a piercing beep.

"Congratulations, team APCT. You have advanced to the next round of qualification matches," Professor Goodwitch announced. "Please leave the battlefield so our next match can begin."

Griffin stood next to me, anger evident on his features. "Lucky shot, blondie," he called at Adrian.

"Normally, I can't hit the broad side of a barn, but you seem to be bigger than that," Adrian called back.

Griffin growled and charged towards my leader. Then, a streak of purple energy impacted the concrete in front of him.

"That's enough, you two. The match is over," chided Professor Goodwitch. "Please clear the area." Turning to me, she said, "And Mr. Hayes, I wish to speak with you."

"Of course, Professor," I said. As I approached her, I wondered what my punishment would be.

When I stopped in front of her, the blonde appeared stern. "Mr. Hayes, I distinctly remember informing you of the rules before the match, is that right?" I gave her a sheepish nod. "Yet your actions—continuing to attack Ms. White when she was unfit to fight any further—showed a flagrant disregard for regulation and sportsmanship. I could disqualify your team."

Shame and distress gripped me. My team rolled the dice on me, waking me and inviting me to this fight. I could not let down my team now. My mind raced for the proper way to defuse the situation. I decided to begin with a simple apology.

"I'm very sorry, Professor."

"I know you are, Mr. Hayes." She paused, perhaps in contemplation. "Yet, your unique…condition is likely to blame here. After all, this is your first sanctioned battle in your memory, correct?"

Was she offering me a way out? "Yes, Professor."

"Very well. Everyone slips up from time to time. It would be unfair of me not to give you the same mulligan. Be more aware of the Aura meters in the future."

"I will."

"You are excused. Rejoin your team in the stands," she said. As I turned away, she added, "And quick thinking out there. You'll make a fine Huntsman."

I smiled. "Thank you."

I returned to my seat next to Adrian. After trading congratulations with my teammates, Adrian faced me. "So, how'd you do it?" he asked me.

"Do what?"

"Defeat Bianca? She hardly loses a match, and you beat her on the first try."

I frowned. "She was a tough opponent for sure, and her Semblance-weapon combo was great."

"What is her Semblance?" asked Caelum. Terra and Adrian sported similar inquisitive looks.

"I think it's friction control. She can manipulate the index of friction of nearby surfaces. She used it to trip and disarm me," I explained. Grinning, I added, "but I used Recursive Nature to move in her frictionless environment and to get rid of her weapon."

Adrian beamed. "Glad to see you haven't lost any of your edge."

"Me too," I replied.

* * *

The elevator played soft music as it ascended. The ride to Ozpin's office allowed me time to reflect on the day's events.

After our match, APCT watched the remainder of the morning's matches. While most didn't draw Adrian's attention, one in particular did: Team LMON dismantled the opposing team with a practiced ease. Adrian left the dueling hall lost in thought, likely contemplating possible counters. Clearly, LMON would be a daunting opponent.

Lunch followed, where I sampled a fantastic meal. Apparently, Ozpin placed nutrition as a high priority, which wasn't surprising, given the amount of physical activity burgeoning Huntsmen and Huntresses performed each day. He took good care of his students.

And now, I was in an elevator, about to meet with the headmaster.

The music stopped, and the elevator decelerated. The display on the elevator's walls pinged, letting me know I had arrived. However, right before the doors opened, a rough shout reached my ears from the room beyond. Without a single trace of hesitation, I activated my Semblance, found what I assumed were the elevator door controls, and locked the doors in place. Then, I used my Semblance again, this time causing Recursive Nature to transform into a stethoscope.

I laughed inwardly. I probably designed the stethoscope to assist with medical procedures, and yet here I was, using it to eavesdrop.

Fitting the tips over my ears, I placed the chest piece on the elevator doors. What had been muffled voices became intelligible conversation.

"They're out there, and we've lost control." A measured voice, rich even when raised. "The solution lies here."

"No, the solution lies in Atlas. You're looking for an easy way out." A calmer voice, yet still laced with frustration. Ozpin's, no doubt in my mind.

"You mean the _only_ way out. You know what the odds are."

"I do." A pause. "But I don't endanger my friends recklessly."

"You consented before."

"That was before we discovered the consequences of our actions. Now, things are different."

"But not so different as to try again."

"Perhaps. But this is my school."

"And this is my _Kingdom_ , Ozpin. She failed, and I will not risk her again."

"And I will not risk him again either." Another pause. "Birds bring bad luck, you know."

Many seconds passed in silence.

"Well, it seems as though we are at an impasse," said Ozpin.

"It seems we are. I have no further business with you." Steps echoed from the other side of the metal doors.

I realized that if the elevator doors did not open normally, then the ruse would be up. Hurriedly, I fixed my sabotage and hid Recursive Nature behind my back, the stethoscope whirring into a wristwatch.

The doors opened with a soft ding, revealing Ozpin's office. A dark-haired man clad in a white suit and a red tie marched towards me. A scowl was etched onto his features, but when he spied me, he erected an impassive façade. We traded places, and soon, the elevator began its descent.

With my disaster averted, I examined the headmaster's office. Windows ringed the room, giving a breathtaking view of the campus. Overhead, giant gears rotated, their hollow grinding conveying an air of formality and power. At a desk in front of me sat the headmaster himself. He poured himself a new cup of coffee from a teapot and then cleared his throat. "Welcome, Phoenix."

I stepped closer to his desk. Ozpin did not show a hint of irritation from his previous conversation. Either the man was good at compartmentalizing, or he was hiding something.

I suspected both.

"Glynda tells me you performed well in today's match. She has high expectations for APCT as the qualification rounds continue."

I nodded. "I hope to live up to those expectations. We'll show everyone that APCT is stronger than ever."

The headmaster chuckled. "Yes, indeed." He took a sip from his mug. "Now, about your return to Beacon."

I raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"

"You seem to have retained your combat abilities, as evident in the results of today's match. Yet, you likely don't recall a single speck of Remnant's history, Grimm biology, or Dust manipulation, am I correct?"

I sighed. "Yeah, you're right. I have a few tatters of memory about the Grimm, but nothing useful."

"And what of Aura manipulation?"

I gathered my Aura into my palm, casting a soft glow into the room. "I think muscle memory has given some amount of control to me, but I don't remember how it operates."

Ozpin hummed. "Very well. You will take first-year history, Grimm biology, and Dust manipulation, and you will continue your second-year dueling and Aura manipulation classes. In addition, you'll take introductory level courses in the sciences and humanities, and you'll have to do a lot of reading in the coming months."

I scratched the back of my head. "I know, Professor. It's a side-effect of amnesia, apparently."

"Indeed." Another sip. The knocking of the gears overhead filled the silence.

As we stared at each other, I pondered the man across from me. During my brief reintroduction with the man, I learned he was an old soul, pragmatic but caring. Both he and Professor Goodwitch sought the betterment of the world of Remnant, yet Ozpin was less strict than Glynda. In this manner, he traded order for adaptability, a tactic absolutely necessary on the battlefield. There was no question in my mind that Ozpin was a warrior.

No, the question in my mind was how he ended up in this bizarre office of his.

His white hair and spectacles gave him an aged look, yet the fire in his eyes bespoke a timeless intelligence.

One that reduced the world into a chess game.

What experiences gave him his unique perspective? The battlefield?

I did not know, but I'd like to find out.

Another question arose in my thoughts: how did he know that I would be arriving in Vale following my escape from the facility? I did not have a Scroll—the ubiquitous phone/tablet devices students and instructors carried at Beacon—on me during my escape from Atlas. Further, as far as I could tell, Recursive Nature did not broadcast any signals, and I did not give my name to Vale ATC. I could only come to one conclusion.

Ozpin had eyes and ears in Atlas.

Time to go fishing for information.

"Professor, who was that man from earlier?"

Ozpin smiled. "His name is General Ironwood. He's the head of the Atlesian military. He's the one in charge of organizing general defense to all the Kingdoms of Remnant."

"And if you don't mind me asking, why was he here visiting?"

"As you know, the Vytal Festival will be held in Atlas this year. The general came to Vale to pick up new recruits and swung by to update me on festival preparations."

Yep, he was hiding something. But why?

"Sounds like he's putting a lot of thought into arranging this year's festival."

"Yes, he is. The Vytal Festival is a way for the host Kingdom to show the other three their finest side, the best of their hospitality. No expense will be spared."

So Ironwood was preparing for the Vytal Festival, and some unknown danger was currently prowling around in Atlas. While the Grimm was my first thought, escaped criminals or corrupt government factions could also be possible threats.

In other words, issues out of my hands and out of my league.

I understood that matters between Kingdoms must stay behind closed doors, but Ozpin's calm demeanor suggested something else. Did I have a tie to the situation? I was recently in Atlas, after all.

Then again, if every student that visited Ozpin were to discover an inkling of the troubles bedeviling the Kingdoms, then rumors would circulate that things were not under control. Rumors would bring doubt, and doubt would bring distress. Alarm. Fear.

And fear brought the Grimm.

I cursed my lack of familiarity with this man. Or rather, the disappearance of it. Without it, I could not judge the headmaster's behavior with accuracy.

I needed more information before I jumped to any conclusions. Matters of this scale required delicate thinking.

The sound of Ozpin's mug meeting the glass table shook me from my thoughts. "Well, Phoenix, I have no further matters to discuss with you. You'll receive your new class schedule tomorrow, as well as a dossier containing files on your team. In it, you can read background information about your teammates, your team's performance in class, and other, similar pieces of information."

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without your help."

An emotion flashed in Ozpin's eyes, if for a millisecond. A smile quickly followed it, though. Strange.

Ozpin stood and turned to face the window behind his desk. "You may return to your dormitory, Phoenix. I'm sure you and your team have many things to discuss."

"I'll bet they do," I said. I caught my tongue before I uttered a farewell, though. "Uh, Professor, which one is my dorm?"

Turning around, Ozpin shot me an amused look. "Right, you don't have a Scroll." Stepping to his desk, Ozpin began to type onto its surface. When he finished, a string of numbers appeared on a holographic display. "These are your building, floor, and room numbers. Any student strolling the campus should be able to point out the building if you can't locate it on your own."

Committing the numbers to memory, I thanked Ozpin and made for the elevator. Before my finger hit the call button, though, Ozpin said, "Visit me again next week, same place and time. I want to ensure your first weeks at Beacon go smoothly."

"Will do, Professor." With that, I called the elevator, stepped in to the waiting car, and selected the ground floor. As the doors closed, I reviewed the numbers to my dormitory. With any luck, I wouldn't be searching for my building for very long.

After that, it would be time to learn about my teammates. Who were these people, my roommates and partners in battle? What sorts of things made them tick?

I was eager to find out.

* * *

A/N: So Phoenix has his first fight! Good for him.

Thank you for reading my story. I always appreciate feedback, but even if you don't write a review, know that I'm tickled that you took time out of your day to read my tale.

Until next time,

-CTech

Update (7/28): Minor adjustments, some added transitions, and closed a MAJOR plot hole. Thanks for bearing with me while I iron this thing out.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

I greeted the sun and the gentle breeze as I exited Beacon Tower. Recursive Nature emitted a soft chime from my wrist, causing me to glance at its face. _2:00_. I faintly recalled Adrian mentioning when classes finished for the day. 4:30? 5:00? Somewhere around then. Regardless, I had a dorm to find and a few hours to kill.

At random, I decided to begin my search to the left. I rounded the statue-topped fountain and strolled past colonnades and stone arches. While a smattering of students passed me in both directions—some in battle gear and touting weapons—others were on the campus green, reading beneath a tree or tossing a ball. Beacon thrummed with a calm energy.

My smile at the relaxed atmosphere lessened as my thoughts began to churn.

My episode in eavesdropping had supplied me with knowledge of conditions in Atlas. Some destructive force was wreaking havoc while the Kingdom busied itself with festival preparations. I understood that the last thing Ironwood wanted was to besmirch Atlas's reputation, yet it sounded as if matters had grown beyond his control.

However, my thoughts that I had a tie to this mysterious force were farfetched and unfounded. Atlas had been holding me hostage—cold metal was not usually a sign of a favored guest. My ability to influence events in a concrete bunker a hundred feet below ground was certainly limited in scope.

No, Atlas had made their own bed. It was their turn to lie in it.

With Ironwood's remarks taken care of, I turned to Ozpin's. Somehow, the headmaster had surveillance capabilities in the northern Kingdom. While a bit of spying between Kingdoms was expected to a certain extent, peering into an isolated facility seemed too far removed from general intelligence jobs.

My curiosity, already piqued, roared to full force. A heist may lie in my future.

Finally, I had my Semblance and my weapon to attend to. A full examination of Recursive Nature's modules was a good place to start. I didn't want to cost my team a victory when the perfect tool had lain on my wrist the entire time. In addition to my weapon's capabilities, I wished to assay my own. While my Semblance could obviously manipulate machines, I desired to know the true extent of that ability.

On top of all that, I needed to rediscover my teammates, return to my studies, prepare for the Vytal Festival qualification matches, and reconnect with friends and family.

In other words, busy.

Wait a moment. _Family_. Why hadn't I thought of my family before now? Had Ozpin told them of my return to Beacon? Or of my MIA status? Or was my disappearance merely written off as an extended mission in a foreign land?

My pace quickened. Answers awaited me at my dormitory.

I arrived at a cluster of buildings. The first I encountered turned out to be dedicated to classrooms and lecture halls. The second was a dormitory, but its address above the entrance proclaimed it as the wrong one. Upon a third failure, I deciphered the addressing scheme and set off for the other end of campus. Just my luck.

As I strolled past another hall reserved for classrooms, the doors sprang open. What once had been a trickle of students became a flood. The class must have dismissed late, as a majority of students sprinted past me. I tried to avoid becoming a human obstacle, but a few bumped shoulders were inevitable in the rush.

"Excuse me."

"I'm sorry."

"Coming through."

"Watch where you're going!"

"Pardon m—Phoenix?"

I whirled around. A pair of green eyes stared back at me, wide in surprise. The girl's wavy blonde hair bounced from her own about-face, gleaming flaxen in the sunlight.

She clearly recognized me. A friend? She looked vaguely familiar. Was she a member of one of the other teams that battled today in Goodwitch's class?

Dust, I needed to break this habit of running into people I didn't know. Tough habit to break, though.

"Uh, hello," I offered.

Her eyes crinkled into a smile. She rushed forward, wrapping me in a tight embrace. "I'm so glad you're back!"

I blinked. Wasn't expecting that. I awkwardly returned the hug, unsure of how to continue. A few seconds later, she gave me a final squeeze and proceeded to hold me at arm's length by the shoulders.

"Look, I've got another class, and I can't be late. Give me a call this evening," she said quickly. With that, she shot off to wherever she was needed next.

I stood amongst the flood of students until it became a trickle once more. How many more surprises awaited me at this campus? It seemed another piece of forgotten history lay in wait behind every corner.

Pushing my questions to the back of my mind, I continued my search for my dormitory.

* * *

I stood before a white-painted wooden door. A golden placard on the wall had the word "APCT" engraved into it, marking our living quarters. With a deep breath, I grasped the handle and gave it a turn.

Locked.

Of course it was. The door likely locked automatically when it was shut. A simple security measure, one designed to keep out petty thieves.

And, as it turns out, me.

I huffed. I was _so close,_ only to be foiled by something as simple as a lock. My thoughts turned towards my wristwatch, curious if a lock pick was among its collection of modules, when my eyes passed over the knob. Its smooth surface looked spotless, a sphere with no scratches or dents.

Or a keyhole.

If students didn't use physical keys, then what did they use? Ozpin seemed the practical type—he'd use a solution that required the least amount of headache. Plus, he didn't give me anything when I left, even though he knew I was headed to my dorm.

 _Right, you don't have a Scroll_. A Scroll, then. But since I didn't have one, I'd have to improvise.

My Semblance activated, and I traded realities.

I found myself in a setup akin to the one from the Atlas facility's keypad, but fewer flashes of light illuminated the pathways. I filed away the observation for later investigation.

I traveled to the nexus. Inside sat three constructs. One pulsed with regularity, one lay dormant, and the third remained lit. Some subconscious intuition told me the last of the three controlled the lock. I raced forward, fused with my target, and what must be data flooded my awareness.

In Atlas, I hadn't paid attention to my interactions because of worry of discovery. Ditto for Ozpin's office. And for whatever reason, Recursive Nature differed. Yet another aspect of my Semblance to explore in the future.

Some combination of information caused the lock controls to disengage. I retook my place in the corporeal world, gave the knob another turn, and stepped into APCT's dorm room.

Near the windows across from me sat four beds, two to a corner. The ones on the left were made, but the pair on the right were a jumble of covers, blankets, and clothes. I wondered which was mine.

To my left, a few bookshelves lay flush with the walls. Their rows of shelves were chock full of books, mostly textbooks and nonfiction pieces. The top shelves, however, were dominated by mystery novels. The spines were creased, indicating they had been well-read or very poorly read. My suspicions lied with the former.

The right side of the room contained a pair of doors, likely for a bathroom and a closet, and a desk. Shoved to the top of the desk were more books, with sheaves of notebook paper wedged between the pages. However, the majority of the desk was devoted to spare parts. Nuts, bolts, screws, wire, and various tools were strewn about its surface.

As I completed my initial sweep of the room, a few additional details caught my eye. Well-marked posters of different models of Dustcraft were tacked to the walls. A music stand, with its accompanying sheet music, had its place in front of the bookshelves. A stack of newspapers lay on the windowsill. Each of these items was a piece of personality, each told a story. The room's decor clamored to be read.

However, a note on a bed to my left demanded to be read first.

I plucked the note from the bed. It had been leaning on a sack similar to the one Adrian had deposited onto my chest this morning. Looking at the note, I began to read the flawless cursive:

 _Hello, Phoenix! If you're reading this, then you probably didn't join us in battle this morning. If that's the case, then feel free to hop on over to the dueling hall. Perhaps you could join us for a spar after all!_

 _In the bag you'll find some of your personal effects. Welcome home._

 _Adrian_

I set the note back on the bed and reached for the bag. Apparently, my team had left me some mementos. How thoughtful of them.

The first object I removed was a photograph. The four members of APCT stood beneath an oak tree, arms thrown over shoulders and grins stretching from ear to ear. A vignette of camaraderie, if I ever saw one. While no markings dated the photo, I knew this picture had been taken at the start of our first year. The twinkle in our eyes, so characteristic of youth, hadn't yet faded. We were battlefield virgins, yet we seized the most extreme job description with full hearts.

No longer did we appear so innocent.

I placed the photo on the windowsill with a smile.

I retrieved another item. A metal statuette weighed down my palm as I removed it from the sack. Constructed from thick wire and nuts and bolts, a crude figure brandished a sword at me. Welded into the figure's foot was the name "Terra." A gift. The statue took residence next to the photo.

The third item was a Scroll. I thumbed its on/off switch. Amazingly, the thing still had a charge, and a cartoonish parchment and quill graced the display as it booted up. A few seconds passed, and then I was met with a simple GUI. Swiping through my applications, I was amused to find a door control switch for the dorm.

Thoughts of friends and family resurfaced, and my ministrations summoned a contacts list. While some were no surprise, such as my teammates and Ozpin, the rest were a mystery. I assumed most were students, but I had no way of knowing their identities beyond their name and profile picture. As I continued to scroll down, a flash of gold caught my eye.

It was her. My Scroll dubbed her "Lily Vermeer." That same tickle of recognition had returned, but at least I had a name to the face. A very strange call lay in her future.

Scanning further down the list, I found another name.

 _Robin Hayes_. My mother.

Memory flooded me.

* * *

 _"Mommy, what are you doing?" I wiped my nose with my sleeve. The fever was gone, but the runny nose was a nuisance._

 _She turned in her chair. "Are you feeling better?"_

 _I nodded. "I finished the soup. It was kinda cold, though."_

 _She gave a warm laugh. I loved that laugh. "Well, to answer your question, I'm working on a project for work."_

 _"Can I see?"_

 _"Sure, hun."_

 _I toddled over to her chair and clambered onto her lap. She wrapped her arm around me and brought me closer to the computer screen so I could see. Lines of text filled the screen. Complex diagrams littered the desk and monitor._

 _"What's that?" I gestured towards the text._

 _"It's computer code."_

 _"Code? Like a secret message?"_

 _Another laugh. "Kind of. You know how you do addition and subtraction at school?"_

 _"Yeah! I like those. We might be doing our multiplication tables soon!"_

 _She tousled my hair. "Sounds exciting." She pointed at the monitor. "Computers do the same thing you do. By adding and subtracting numbers a whole bunch of times, they can do all sorts of things. Code just tells them what to do."_

 _"Does Nebula Wars have code?"_

 _"Even your video games run on code. Without code, computers wouldn't know what to do."_

 _I looked at the screen. I frowned. "But if code is just adding and subtracting, why are there words?"_

 _"Computers use a language called 'binary.' Humans can't understand binary, and computers can't understand English, so programmers write in words and the computer translates it to binary."_

 _"Is that what you are? A programmer?"_

 _"Yes, hun."_

 _"I want to be a programmer!"_

 _She turned me around on her lap. She smiled warmly. "But I thought you wanted to be a Huntsman. Like Daddy."_

 _I pouted. "Why can't I be both?"_

 _She kissed me on my forehead, causing me to squeal. "You can, if you want."_

 _I began to play with her ruddy locks. "Then I'll be Remnant's greatest programmer and Remnant's strongest Huntsman!"_

 _She chuckled. I loved to listen to her laugh. "I've no doubt in my mind that you will be." She set me on the ground. "But right now, Mommy has to work."_

 _I whined in protest. But when she started to tickle me, I ran from the room._

 _Remnant's greatest programmer. That's what I wanted to be, but when I turned at the doorframe and looked back at her, that's what I saw._

 _Robin Hayes. Remnant's greatest programmer. My mother._

* * *

The final dregs of the scene faded. A warm feeling suffused within me. My heart swelled twofold—once from the memory, once from discovering a piece of my past.

Perhaps the veil would lift after all.

I selected my mother's contact and opened a chat window. I didn't know how much Beacon had told her, so I opted to be conservative.

 _Hey, Mom. I'm back from my mission._

I sent the message. Within a minute, the Scroll chimed with a reply.

 _Welcome back, honey! Can't talk right now, about to present to Cloverleaf. I'll call when I'm free._

I smiled, then sent a reply of my own.

 _Sounds good. Let me know when_.

The door to the room slammed shut. Startled, I looked up. Terra had arrived with a bang, and she quickly ensconced herself at the desk. I hadn't gotten a good look at her face, as her brown curls had obscured her features, but the tension between her shoulder blades suggested something on the anger spectrum.

"What are you—"

"Shut it. Not right now," Terra cut me off. Sounds of screws rolling about and metal pieces clicking against each other began to fill the room. I knew a 'Do not disturb' sign when I saw one. I returned to my Scroll.

Strangely, my father was not among those in my contact list. Perhaps he was technophobic. Although, if he was, it would make his marriage with my mother a paradox of sorts. I decided to ask my mother about it when she called.

Seeing how a cursory glance through the rest of the contacts did little for me, I exited to the bank of applications. Most were self-explanatory: clock, calendar, music, settings. One, however, did not fit the mold: "Comet." Noting that Terra did not yet appear calm, I opened the application. A comet icon took its place above a loading bar. Bits of text reamed beneath them, an indication of some startup sequence.

The loading bar reached 100% and faded away with the comet. A second later, a complex UI filled the screen. Esoteric information was arrayed about in some semblance of order. I touched one at random, earning myself a convoluted file tree for my action. Strange file names graced the screen. I guessed these programs were for Recursive Nature, but I wouldn't know unless I looked at one of them.

Giving a mental shrug, I selected one, marked 'DesignRunner.' Lines of code replaced the file tree. The code appeared foreign to me—I could have deciphered hieroglyphics with better success.

I was about to examine the code more thoroughly when clattering sounded from Terra's direction. Looking up, I was met with a wind-up toy skittering across the desk's surface, its creator standing to the side, watching it. A smile, ever so slight, teased at her lips. Terra had calmed down.

"What's that?" I asked.

Terra's smile morphed into a wistful look. However, when she turned my way, her features had hardened. "It's a wind-up toy, doofus," she replied.

I rolled my eyes. "I know that, but why'd you make it?"

Terra caught the toy as it fell off the edge of the desk. "It's a habit," she stated simply.

A topic for later discussion, then. "So, why are you back without the others?"

She sighed. "Kicked out of class."

"What for?"

"You know the drill by know." At my quirked eyebrow, she realized her mistake. "Actually, you wouldn't know the drill." She paused. "Outburst in Aura manipulation class."

I motioned for her to continue. Shooting me a glare, she said, "I get frustrated, okay? I lash out when a new technique doesn't work right away." She crossed her arms.

I'd need to be careful, lest I rile her up again. Time to utilize a different tactic. "What was the technique?"

Terra flopped down in the chair by the desk, fiddling with a screwdriver. "Aura can be used to stop projectiles and blades, but Professor Slate lectured about using Aura to manipulate blades on contact."

"So, if you're in a fight, you could transform a hit into throwing your opponent off-balance?"

She nodded. "Except I couldn't. My Aura was dropping and I couldn't do it. I saw red."

"Lashed out?"

She nodded grimly. Given her reticence, I decided not to push the issue. Casting about for a change in subject, I said, "I've got this program on my Scroll called 'Comet.'"

"Your IDE. What about it?"

"IDE?" Goodness, I needed to do some reading.

"It's an acronym, but I don't know for what. You use it to program things, like Recursive Nature and other projects."

"I see."

"I take it you're back to square one?"

"Yep."

Terra gave me an inquisitive look. "That reminds me... Adrian told me what you told him earlier, about what happened after the battle, but... how much _do_ you remember."

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

I waved my hand in a so-so gesture. "Bits and pieces, but nothing about that battle. But I know my name, what Aura and the Grimm are, and a general understanding of my weapon and my Semblance. I also just had some sort of flashback involving my mother."

"What about me?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. I didn't even know your name when I woke up."

She hummed. "What about Adrian?"

Something in the way she phrased her question gave me pause. "Nothing…why do you ask?"

She glanced to the side. Her answer was clear. "Terra…"

"You two are childhood friends," she said.

At hearing Terra's remark, anger welled up inside me. Someone or something at Atlas took my memory from me. It could very well have been the cyborg Grimm, but having my past ripped away from me suddenly did not sit well with me.

"You okay?" Terra's question shook me from my thoughts. The feeling faded, but it pulsed in the background. "Yeah, just angry that I don't know anything about Adrian. Or you, for that matter."

"What you and Adrian talk about isn't my business, can't help you there." She offered me a smile. "But I can help you with me."

I smiled back. "I'm all ears."

Terra reached for the toy on the desk. Her fingers ran over its surface as she began. "I was born in Vacuo."

"Remind me again which one that is."

"Western Kingdom on Sanus. Desert climate, but the cities are in an oasis."

"Thank you, carry on."

She paused, ostensibly to collect her thoughts. "My father is a mechanic, has his own shop. My mother was a Dust miner."

"Was?"

She frowned. "Died in childbirth. Medicine isn't as prevalent in Vacuo as in Vale, and we didn't have enough Lien for a qualified professional."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It happened. That's it." When I didn't speak, she continued, "My father's shop provided for the two of us, but barely. Dad pulled me out of school from time to time to work on rush jobs and whatnot."

"What kind of work?"

"Schnee jobs, mostly. An occasional government craft. A trickle of smaller consumer work year-round kept the coffers in the black."

I considered the girl before me in a new light. Her threadbare clothes now looked loved. The perpetual grease stain on her hands bespoke a perseverance, not a disregard for hygiene. The screwdriver she twirled in her fingers as she fiddled with the toy was no longer a tool but an extension of who she was.

"You know, mechanics don't normally become Huntresses."

"This one did. Penny-pinching and additional odd jobs ensured a first step: Umbra, the combat school next to Shade."

"And then straight to Beacon?"

"Not quite." Terra's incessant tinkering with the wind-up toy produced a different form, this one now jumping across the desk. "I had a visit from Ozpin."

"I'm sure he was persuasive."

"Quite." She grabbed the toy when it ran out of energy. "He's the reason I leave the dorm at night. I go to repair the campus' Dustcraft and other machines. You know how hard it is to fix the headmaster's obsession with cogs?"

"How hard?"

"Harder than Aura manipulation, that's for sure."

I snorted. "Anything else?"

Terra shook her head, pocketing the toy. "That'll cover you until Ozpin gets you the team file."

I raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "It's standard procedure. Transfers into teams of three receive similar files. Except your name will be in it."

"I guess so," I said. "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, Phoenix?"

"Why did you give me that statue?"

She looked at the windowsill. "That thing? Just a gift."

So I was right. "For what?"

Terra chewed her lip. "I'd rather not say."

So the statue wasn't given for a birthday or some other celebration. "How come?"

She pursed her lips. "Look, over the past year and a half, APCT has shared many secrets with each other. It comes with the territory. But when you show up, a clean slate, the others want that, too."

I completed Terra's thought. "And telling secrets a second time around doesn't hurt any less."

She gave a slight nod. "Regret threatens trust."

With that, Terra sought out one of the books on the head of the desk. She opened to a page and continued taking notes in a messy scrawl. The conversation over, I was about to return to my Scroll when I decided my glaring lack of knowledge about computers needed to be addressed. Perhaps the library at Beacon had something to offer.

"Terra, where's the library?" Without turning around, she gestured to my Scroll. "You've got a map and a brain. Figure it out."

I frowned. Terra's terse nature would need a little bit getting used to. "Okay, thanks. I'll see you later."

"Bye," she said absentmindedly.

A minute of searching on my Scroll rewarded me with a live campus map. With my destination located, I shut the door behind me.

* * *

One of the librarians had been overjoyed to help me. Apparently, students preferred to use the spaces between the shelves for socializing or studying textbooks. Rarely do students come through looking for _actual_ books.

With my prize in hand, I had proceeded to locate a quiet corner, away from the aforementioned socializers. The book, entitled "Introduction to Methods and Algorithms," lay on the oaken table in front of me. It appeared unread. I thumbed past the table of contents and the introduction and began to read:

 _Computers and Scrolls have revolutionized the modern era. While on their own they are great instruments for data collection, storage, and analysis, with the introduction of the CCT Network, an increasingly globalized Remnant has developed. Today, communications technologies ensure the trade of goods and services at a more safe and efficient level._

 _Beyond computers's economic impact, Scrolls enable citizens to communicate across vast distances. Now, family members on entirely different continents may share text, pictures, and video at a push of a button. Scientists may collaborate at unprecedented levels, magnifying the rate of scientific discovery by a significant factor. Governments may make decisions about policy and foreign affairs without risking diplomats on dangerous overseas trips._

The discussion of technology's impact on Remnant continued for the rest of the page. Turning to the next, I read:

 _First marketed by Cloverleaf Technologies forty years after the Great War, the complexity of computational devices has increased at an exponential rate, consistent with…_

More history of computing. Skipping ahead:

 _All computers, regardless of design or function, have analogous inner workings. Computers are encoded with a specific set of commands to carry out certain tasks. These commands, often bundled into programs, contain the explicit logical steps for a computer to complete a task._

Turning the page:

 _Computers operate in binary, a number system comprised of only 1's and 0's. The smallest unit of information, called a bit, is a single 1 or 0. Groups of eight bits are called a byte, 1000 bytes a kilobyte, and so on._

Okay, so that's how information is stored, but where's the hardware? Another turn of the page:

 _CPU chips form the heart of a computer. Inside is its random access memory, or RAM. Using thousands of clever logic gates, RAM can simultaneously store data and programs. Discussed more in Chapter 3, we will see how RAM runs a program and addresses data._

Does my Semblance interact with RAM, then? If so, that would explain how I can open and close doors, as the program to operate the lock always runs. Recursive Nature must also be constantly keeping its modules in RAM. But what about the security system in Atlas, the cameras I disabled? I didn't know.

With the remainder of the chapter referencing future topics, I flipped to chapter three. Before I could begin to read, though, a note in the margins caught my eye.

 _Memory is fickle, don't you think, Phoenix?_

What. The. Hell. My blood ran cold. I read, reread the note. Still, it did not change.

Who wrote this? How did they know I would read it? The book was brand new, unread. How could this be?

I rifled through the pages, looking for another message. Surely there was another here. There had to be.

On the back cover lay a series of numbers, handwritten in. No doubt the companion to the first message.

 _532-0-661-52708-7_

I couldn't make heads or tails of it. A code? A Scroll number? Coordinates?

I was shaken, no question about it. Suddenly, the walls of the library looked a bit darker. Tucking the book under my arm, I hustled out of the library.

I had to talk with my team.

* * *

A/N: A window to the past. Multiple paths to the future.

I'm very excited to see this story grow and evolve. I started with a single concept and it's taken on a life of its own. I can't wait to see how it progresses from here.

As always, favorites, follows, or reviews are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading. I'll see you in two weeks with another update.

-CTech

Update (7/28): Minor adjustments, some added transitions, and closed a MAJOR plot hole. Thanks for bearing with me while I iron this thing out.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

"What the hell?"

"That's what I said."

"So you're saying that you found this note in a book on programming in Beacon's library?"

"Yep."

"And these numbers—do you know what they could mean?"

"No, but they're not a Scroll number. I already dialed it, and it didn't go through."

The room fell into silence. Adrian paced by the windowsill, Terra lay on her bed, and Caelum spun in circles in the desk's swivel chair. On my own bed, I couldn't help but feel as lost as my teammates.

Adrian stopped his pacing for another question. "And you don't know who might have written to you?"

I shook my head. He resumed his pacing.

"Mind reading me the code?" asked Caelum. "I've got a soft spot for all kinds of puzzles and riddles. Maybe I can make some sense of it." I read him the string of numbers, and he began to scribble on a fresh sheet of notebook paper.

Terra spoke from her spot on the bed. "Unlike Caelum, I'm not one for number games, and Phoenix here interrupted a perfectly good discussion of strategy for our upcoming match. Mind if we got back to it?"

"Oh, Terra, always looking for the next person to clobber," said Adrian.

"It'll be you if you don't start talking tactics," she shot back.

Terra's earlier remark hit a nerve. An unknown author with knowledge of my mental condition and a prescient ability to pinpoint my reading tastes had left me a mysterious code, and Terra had paid it little to no mind. I knew I had essentially just met her, but I expected more loyalty from her. Her complete disregard for a year-and-a-half team history caused rage to surge within me.

I snapped.

"Look, Terra," I spat. "As far as I am aware, the only ones who know about my amnesia are Ozpin, Goodwitch, and APCT. But then, a handwritten note in a _book_ of all things has my name in it."

Terra sat up, a retort on her tongue. "So what?" she cried, throwing her arms out. "We know _nothing_ about who wrote it, and unless Caelum over there has a eureka moment, those numbers mean _nothing_ to us."

"You mean they mean nothing to _you_. It's not your name on the note."

"But why waste time on it when it holds no meaning?"

"Because Atlas could have sent someone after me!"

Terra's scowl morphed into a wide-eyed expression, her anger visibly leaving her. As my own fury dissipated, I sensed Adrian and Caelum turn to me. A quick glance their way revealed similar inquisitive looks. Adrian likely told the others about my waking up in Atlas, but none of them knew of my getaway from the facility.

Terra, over her initial surprise, adopted an expression of irritation. "Explain."

So, for the second time in twenty-four hours, I told the story of my escape.

At the conclusion of my tale, Adrian held up a hand. "You mean to tell us that Atlas agents could have been on their way this entire time, and you only think to tell us _now_?"

"When I left in the Bullhead, they sent no vessels my way. When Ozpin greeted me, he showed no indication of alarm or worry about possible pursuers. But this message makes me think otherwise."

I surveyed the three in front of me. Caelum bounced his leg, visibly agitated, while Adrian stared at the opposite wall, deep in thought. Terra had resumed her scowling, but the fire in her eyes had died down.

My team processed my story in silence. As I waited, the tension in the room dissipated completely. Usually, the air in the room became tainted when yelling started, but that was not the case here. I hazarded a guess that conflict was not new to APCT.

I expected Adrian to speak first, but it was Caelum that broke the quiet. "Terra, Phoenix… you two are both right. This code obviously means something, but until we uncover that meaning, we must carry on. A thirteen digit sequence is no cause for alarm."

I was about to refute that claim when I realized that it was true. Although APCT had a resident amnesiac now, we were still APCT. Any dangers thrown our way would be faced head-on, with all four of us together. I could sense the invisible ribbons of trust that connected each member to the other. The veritable web of loyalty would withstand any trial.

Especially numbers from a mystery author.

Finally content to table my problem for later examination, I nodded to Adrian. Reading my cue, he retrieved his Scroll from his pocket. "Time for some strategy," he said, causing Terra to break out into a smile. "But I promise, Phoenix," he said to me, "that we'll decipher this code. Even if it takes all semester." He returned to his Scroll.

After a series of taps, he cleared his throat. "Victors from today's matches included teams LMON and SPHR. The remainder of the second-year teams will finish their first round tomorrow, leaving eight teams for Wednesday's and Thursday's fights. Tonight, we will think of counters for LMON and SPHR, and tomorrow night will be for the other teams."

"Let's start with SPHR. I like interrogating Caelum."

"Hey!" exclaimed Caelum.

"You know that nets us the win, though," Terra said.

I was about to inquire about this so-called 'interrogation' when my Scroll began to ring. _Must be my mother_. Excusing myself, I stepped out into the hallway and answered the call. Video of my mother in a hotel room displayed on the screen. She looked exactly as she had in my flashback. She had aged well.

"Hi, Mom," I greeted.

"Phoenix, it's so good to finally see you!" Her wide smile sent my lips upwards into one of my own. "This is such a treat, especially after being stuck in meetings and presentations all day."

I nodded. "I can imagine so."

She sighed. "You don't even know the half of it. You'd think that these guys have never even heard of the term 'totient function.' I think they just look at my program and see the dollar signs they can save."

"Speaking of the project you presented to Cloverleaf…is this a new venture of yours or an old program from a while back?"

My mother hummed. "Well, it's a little of both. What with Moore's Law and new advances in technology, hash codes and encryption softwares are being broken left and right. Not one to be left vulnerable, Cloverleaf decided I should update their security programs. So, I resurrected an old program of mine, dusted it off, and presented it today."

Apparently my mother worked in cybersecurity. Also, she liked to use technical jargon with me, a sign of how much I had forgotten. Not wanting my amnesia to be found out, I changed topics. "And how are things at home?" I asked.

"We've been well during your mission, although three months of radio silence isn't good for your father's overactive imagination." She gave a light chuckle.

So Ozpin _had_ told everyone I was on an extended mission, not MIA. I assumed as much, but my mother's statement confirmed my suspicions.

"When can I visit?" I inquired.

"As much as I'd like you to come by right now, I'm currently at Cloverleaf's Vale branch, and your father is on Grimm patrol. And _you_ have a Vytal Festival to prepare for."

I lifted my eyebrows. "How did you know?"

My mother gave me a knowing smile. "I raised you, didn't I? Besides, you're the most competitive person on that campus. No force at Beacon could have kept you from trying your hand at qualifying for the tournament."

She was right about that, and I told her as much.

"So," she said, clapping her hands together. "Tell me about the mission."

I panicked for a moment. I was unaware of what details Ozpin had shared with my family, and a contradiction would be costly. I hoped some information would be in that dossier. For now, though, I'd have to temporize.

"I'd rather tell the both of you at the same time," I hedged.

"Is the story that long? I suppose three months in the field would amass a tale of some length," she said.

"Believe me, it would save me a lot of trouble if I only had to tell it once."

She gave a relenting nod. "Very well. I'll check with your father and see if he'll be back home this weekend. If you can manage a break in your studies, then pay us a visit."

"Sounds good, Mom. I'll let you know how the tournament qualification goes."

"I know you'll do great, honey." A knocking sound came from her end, prompting her to look backwards. She conversed silently with whoever was there—she must have muted her Scroll—before returning to me. "Looks like the man in charge of the Vale branch wants to treat me to dinner. I've got to go. Bye, Phoenix!"

The connection ended. My mother's profile stayed on the screen for a few seconds and then blinked back into the background. Getting up from the floor and unlocking the door, I collapsed my Scroll and returned to my dorm room.

Only to be met by the sight of Terra tackling Caelum to the ground.

Adrian and I watched on silently as the two wrestled on the floor for a few seconds. Finally, Terra was crowned the victor when she pinned Caelum's arms down. Her curls hid her features from my view, but Caelum sported a pout.

I was mildly surprised—Caelum was much bigger than Terra and could have easily overpowered her. Either she was very strong, or he wasn't trying very hard. I guessed a little of both.

"I don't care about how _you_ get around it, I want to know how _I_ can get around it," Terra said.

"Let me go," Caelum protested.

"Not until you tell me how to beat her."

"No."

"…Then I guess we'll be here a while."

"Terra, get off of him," Adrian interrupted. "We can continue this conversation in the dining hall, but I expect no more fisticuffs out of you." Harrumphing, she got off of the boy and helped him up.

Rolling his eyes, Adrian walked towards me. "Let's go get some grub."

* * *

The dining hall bustled with activity. Students darted about with trays laden with food, and random conversation filled my ear with a pleasant din. After collecting an assortment of foods from the cafeteria's varied stands and counters, we selected an open spot along one of the hall's long mess tables. I allowed myself a few bites before turning to Adrian. "So, who's the girl those two were talking about earlier?"

Adrian glanced at Caelum and Terra, who were bickering about something. "Stella. Caelum's twin sister."

"And what's got Terra so riled up?"

Adrian gave me an unamused look. "Haven't you noticed that a _lot_ of things rile Terra up?"

"Touché."

Adrian took another bite of his meal before continuing. "Stella is the leader of team SPHR. Under her leadership, they've thrived, and they currently hold the best sparring record for second-years. Their victories are usually owed to Stella herself, whose battle record is near spotless."

"What makes her such a formidable fighter?"

"She shows incredible facility with her throwing knives, and her Semblance is very mysterious. No one has managed yet to figure out exactly what it is," Adrian explained.

I looked to Caelum, who was currently batting away fork jabs from Terra. "Does he know?"

"He's lent us some hints about what it could be during our time here, but nowhere near a full picture," he said. "Their sibling relationship is quite unique—they respect each other's abilities and aspire to best the other through honest combat."

"And I take it that sharing each other's secrets to teammates would be a breach of their agreement," I guessed.

"Exactly. Terra got fed up with Caelum the first time he cited their sibling relationship for his reticence, but now, I think Terra just does it because she likes teasing him."

The pair had finally stopped their squabble and focused on eating their dinner. "Are they a…thing?" I asked.

Adrian snorted. "No. Where'd you get an idea like that?"

I cast about for support to my conclusion, only to come up short. "I—I don't know."

"Vacuo is rougher than Vale. People always get into each other's faces there. It's just the culture," Adrian explained. He shrugged. "Here, Caelum just happens to be in the way."

"I suppose." As I chewed, another question came to mind. "In the dorm, whose stuff is whose?"

"Well, the music stand's Caelum's, and the nuts and bolts are Terra's.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Adrian shot me an annoyed look, then said, "Any textbooks are public property, as we all use them for class. Toiletries in the bathroom are also shared, minus toothbrushes and the like. The only rule there is that if you use the last of something, you buy the replacement."

I filed away Adrian's remark. I definitely didn't want to be caught dishing out Lien needlessly. "What about the mystery novels?"

"Those are yours."

"And the newspapers?"

"Those are mine."

"Why read a physical newspaper? Wouldn't a Scroll be easier?"

Adrian shook his head. "My father reads the newspaper every morning. I wanted to be like him when I was little, so I began to read it, too, although I couldn't comprehend half of what was on the page at the time. I guess I picked up the habit and brought it to Beacon with me."

I continued to ask about APCT's dorm etiquette until all four of us had finished our meal. Once the last piece of food had disappeared, Terra and Caelum left the table together, headed for some unknown destination. A look Adrian's way earned me an answer: "They've gone off for partner sparring. Speaking of which, I think it's time we started our own."

* * *

I bounced on the balls of my feet, my longsword held in my right palm. Adrian stared across from me, Riptide grasped firmly in his hands. At his nod, I presented Recursive Nature.

"En garde!" Adrian called, weapon already in motion.

His overhead blow hit the flat of my blade, a clang ringing from the black metal. I pushed his staff to the side and jabbed at his chest, only to have him parry my attack with the end of his weapon. As I recovered, I stopped a low arc from Riptide, aimed at my feet. Hoping to take advantage of the lowered weapon, I swept at Adrian's shoulders, but he deflected that strike with the end of his staff as well.

A lull came in the blows. Each of us eyed the other, probing for weaknesses, for openings. Adrian fiddled with his hold on his staff, his gaze never leaving my weapon. I stared back in much the same way, wary of any motion from Riptide or its owner.

Adrian's staff was longer than my longsword, but by holding the staff about two-thirds of the way down, Adrian's reach was effectively the same size as mine. While a weapon of Riptide's length was more unwieldy than a shorter blade, it made up for it in defensive capabilities.

I considered my options. My sword moved faster than his staff—if I could inundate him with strikes, then I could overwhelm his guard and sneak a few blows in.

Realizing he was not going to make the next move, I gave Recursive Nature a twirl and charged.

As I performed a series of slices and stabs, my partner adjusted the placement of his hands on his staff, widening his grip. No longer did I feel like I was attacking a pole—I was fighting a veritable wall. My partner sent no responses to my strikes, he simply let me attack. So, I attacked, seeking a crack in his defenses, but to no success.

It was only when I felt my arm twinge in fatigue that I realized his strategy: he was letting me wear myself down.

Clever. I took a step back, hoping to catch my breath.

That plan was foiled when he unleashed a fusillade of his own. In my slightly worn-down state, I could barely block all of his blows, much less reply with one of my own. At this rate, Adrian would win this war of attrition.

Although muscle memory had ensured a body ready for battle, the amnesia had robbed me of my tactical mind. No longer was the long game my friend. I swore inwardly. Victory was not so easily achieved.

As I fended off Adrian's many strikes, I sought a solution to my predicament. Thoughts of my Semblance were quashed—Adrian had stressed a one-weapon spar. Thoughts of my partner's Semblance were similarly ignored. He stated himself that his Semblance wasn't fit for battle.

A look at Adrian's grip revealed that his hands were now closer together. I suspected that the change of position allowed him to increase his reach.

But the greater reach meant more susceptibility to blows himself.

I continued to block, waiting for an opening. When he readied a side hit, I brought my left hand in for a double-handed hold. The strike arrived, and I met it with my blade. The two weapons clashed.

And Recursive Nature kept moving, dragging a reluctant Riptide with it. Adrian must not have expected my weapon's sudden change in inertia.

Adrian pulled his quarterstaff back, returning to his defensive hold. But, instead of returning to the offensive, I retained my two-handed position. I sent the occasional strike his way, ensuring Adrian's reach remained shorter than my own, but otherwise did not attack.

I finally was able to breathe. My heart rate slowed, yet the adrenaline still coursed through my veins. Muscles unclenched. I wiped sweat from my brow with my shoulder.

Neither one of us had landed a hit yet. We were an even match.

Then, Adrian jumped _over me_ , performing a flip across an incredible distance. I barely registered the leap before a strike to the back of my skull knocked me forwards.

Adrian—1, Phoenix—0.

Surprise at my partner's gambit caused any conscious thought to flee from my mind and for instinct to take over. I pivoted as I stumbled and brought Recursive Nature around to parry. I deflected his first follow-up, but the second impacted my ribs.

 _Dust,_ that hurt.

As my wits returned, I took a few steps backwards, hoping to escape Adrian's reach. Unfortunately, my partner had different plans. He mirrored my retreat with his own advance, expertly maintaining the flow of the spar.

Things were not looking in my favor. I needed to try something new. Something _risky_.

The house always won. But a single heavy bet could break the bank.

Time to roll the dice.

My two-handed defense weathered several more attacks. _Overhead, sweep, feint, low sweep_. The strikes came. I waited patiently for the right one.

Adrian made to hit my right side, only to arc above my head for my left.

 _My turn_. I broke my hold, whipping my left forearm out to meet Riptide. The staff smacked against my arm-guard, the entirety of its kinetic energy dissipating into the Aura-infused appendage.

Aura or not, that would leave a bruise.

While my left arm endured its needless punishment, I shot my right forwards. Adrian attempted to divert the stab with the end of his staff, but I scored a heavy hit to his shoulder with Recursive Nature's blunted tip.

We both stepped back, chests heaving. Was that a grin playing across Adrian's face?

Suddenly, Riptide gyrated with shocking speed. A crack sounded as the two weapons met, and then Recursive Nature flew from my grasp, clanging on the concrete a few feet from me.

Yep, definitely a grin.

I answered his smirk with a scowl and pair of raised fists.

I channeled Aura into my legs, rocketing towards my partner. I batted away Riptide with Aura-filled palms, entering his guard. We traded blows. My fists impacted his chest, and his staff hit my shoulders and ribs. With Adrian's leverage decreased, his strikes lost much of their power, but I could feel them wear away at my Aura pool. I could only hope my fists were doing the same for my partner.

Perhaps Adrian came to the same conclusion, since he slid his hands to either end of his pole and shoved me away. He must have used Aura, for I slid back at least a foot.

I regained my fighting stance, expecting an advance. Instead, Adrian set one end of Riptide to the ground and leaned on it like an oversized walking stick. "Well done! I'm impressed with how much you've retained," he said, a smile replacing his calm battle mask.

I dropped my hands, the glow from my Aura dying away. As my body relaxed, the rest of the world came back into focus. "Can't say it's enough to beat you. You almost had me there," I said.

"I'm loath to admit it, but you _may_ have been at a disadvantage this time around."

I grinned. "I'll work on it."

Adrian's Scroll appeared from his pocket. He consulted the screen for a moment. "Well, our Aura reserves aren't so depleted as to begin again, but I have a feeling you might not want to start another round. Not that I'm complaining."

Sending my agreement his way, I retrieved Recursive Nature from the ground and, with an application of my Semblance, watched as it coiled around my wrist.

Glancing up, I saw Adrian spin Riptide, fold it, and then store it in a holster behind his back. As he walked to me, I couldn't help but notice a sense of purpose in his steps. The energy in his strides suggested something more. He stopped a few feet from me and paused. An expectant look was plastered on his face.

And then he bowed. Confused, I did the same.

"May foresight be our shield," he began.

My mind scrambled for an explanation for my partner's actions. Was this some sort of ritual he did after all fights? I didn't recall him doing so with BGDY earlier today, so I was at a loss.

And yet, words bubbled forth from within me. My tongue responded, unbidden. "And wit, our blade."

 _May foresight be our shield, and wit, our blade._

The words—the ritual—triggered something in my brain. For the second time that day, memory washed through me.

* * *

 _An explosion sounded from the holographic display. A pixelated spacecraft dissolved into particles of flame and debris._

 _"Ha! I won!" However, my gleeful announcement was not met with the usual groan of dissatisfaction or faux shove from my playmate. Intrigued, I turned to face him. He sported a frown, his eyes unfocused._

 _"Adrian? Are you alright?"_

 _Adrian shook his head, his uncombed blonde hair shifting with the movement._

 _"You wanna talk about it?"_

 _Indecision reigned on his features._

 _"Tell me." My voice was firm, perhaps a bit more than I desired, but it did the job. Adrian snapped out of whatever trance he was in and stared at me._

 _"You sure?" I nodded. He sighed. "Okay." He shut the bedroom door and depressed the simple locking mechanism. It gave a tinny click. He retook his spot on the floor, next to me._

 _"It's about my dad."_

 _I perked up. "He's a Huntsman, right?"_

 _"No. Not anymore." Reluctance still played out on his face._

 _"How come?"_

 _He looked at me, blue eyes meeting my red ones. "He's running for government."_

 _It was my turn to frown. "Government? You mean the old fat dudes that scribble on paper and shout at each other all day?"_

 _A weak smile appeared on his face. "Yeah. Dad thinks he can make more of a difference at city hall than on Grimm patrol. He says those in charge right now wouldn't know a Grimm if it bit them on the butt."_

 _I snickered at the image. When Adrian didn't join in, though, I stopped. "So what's got you worried?"_

 _Adrian brought his knees to his chin, resting his head in the crook between his legs. "He told me that if he's elected, bad things may start to happen."_

 _"Like what?"_

 _"I dunno. Protesters at the house. People calling us. Being stared at around town."_

 _I scrunched my face up in thought. "But if he does a good job, won't people like him?"_

 _"But Dad says there's always someone who's gonna be unhappy." He paused. "I'm scared."_

 _I wanted to cheer him up. "You and I are gonna go to Signal in a few years, right? We're gonna learn how to fight there. If someone calls you names, then we can just beat him up!"_

 _I expected a sound of agreement, but instead heard a cry of distress. "No! Dad says if he wins, we have to be on our best behavior."_

 _"But you already do that." When he didn't calm, I knew there was something else. "What's the rest of it?"_

 _"I—I know I shouldn't think this way but…all I can think about is someone coming for me at night, climbing in through my window—"_

 _"You know that's silly—"_

 _"—or kidnapping me on the street—"_

 _"That almost never happens—"_

 _"—or threatening my family, or—or—" He began to breathe faster and faster._

 _He began to hyperventilate._

 _I froze. My efforts at assuaging his fears were futile. He wasn't listening to me._

 _Some corner of my brain screamed at me to move, to get help, but I could only watch in the same way one watches a burning house or a horrendous car crash._

 _I wanted to look away. My eyes were locked onto his shuddering form._

 _I wanted to scream. My jaws were clamped shut in abject fright._

 _Then, the ragged breathing stopped. No other breaths came. He was going to pass out._

 _My hand began to move—I rubbed his back. My mouth began to move—I spoke. Reassurances flowed from my mouth._

 _Seconds passed. My fear grew in the breathless silence._

 _All of a sudden, a blue light filled the room. His body glowed. I stared in wonder as the light washed over his torso and head, down his arms and legs. I felt his back relax beneath my hand._

 _A breath came, then another. A third followed, then a fourth._

 _The glow died away._

 _Time ceased to exist. Time existed between breaths._

 _A metronome established itself, one measured by inhalations and exhalations. Its wheezings ticked in the room, until it faded into nothingness._

 _"A—Adrian?"_

 _"Yes?" His voice was weak._

 _"What was that?" I already knew._

 _"Aura." He stated it as fact._

 _Silence._

 _"Not fair."_

 _A soft giggle sounded from Adrian. It grew to a laugh. I joined in, and soon we were doubled up on the floor._

 _My sides ached for the rest of the day._

 _My heart ached, too, but not from sadness. It ached from mirth._

* * *

"Phoenix!"

My eyes refocused. Adrian shook my shoulders at arm's length. Worry was etched on his face.

"Not fair," I said. Adrian dropped his arms to his side. His worry was replaced with confusion. When I tapped my head, though, realization dawned on him.

"My Aura unlocking ordeal?" he asked.

I nodded. "Strange, though, that our little saying would trigger a memory seemingly unconnected to it."

He pondered my statement. "How many flashbacks have you had so far?"

"Only two. One with my mother, when I read her name on my Scroll, and one with you, just now," I answered.

"Interesting," he said. Whatever additional thoughts he had on the matter, though, stayed with him. Wordlessly, Adrian strode out of the training hall. "Where are you going?" I asked as I followed.

"I was thinking of getting a workout in before heading back to the dorm. Usually, our spars last a bit longer than that." He gave me an apologetic look. "Not that I'm blaming you."

I grinned sheepishly. "It's okay, I'll get back to normal soon."

We took a right, and the smell of chlorine filled the air. We passed a set of windows looking out onto a lap pool. "Going for a swim?" I asked.

"Not tonight. Normally I would, but I didn't bring my suit," Adrian explained. Before I could ask, he said, "The weight room's a bit farther this way."

As we walked the corridors, a chime sounded from my pocket. Consulting my Scroll, I read a short text from Lily: _Surprise assignment, can't talk tonight. Sorry, P._

"By the way, who's Lily?" I asked. Hopefully, Adrian knew something about this mystery girl.

"She's a close friend of yours. I can't tell you how you met, but you hit it off second semester of our first year. We train with LMON every once in a while, the occasional spar and the like," Adrian said.

I sent a short reply and returned my Scroll to my pocket. "She said to call tonight, but now she's too busy," I said.

Adrian shot me a grin. "Well, worst case scenario, you'll see her tomorrow in dueling class."

"That I will," I said.

* * *

I woke, and I couldn't help but groan. My muscles protested against any movement. I thought sleep would come easily after that workout, but apparently my body had other plans. Recursive Nature's face taunted me with a red '12:57' from my wrist.

I glanced about the room. Moonlight scattered through the curtains, giving the room the barest hint of light to see by. As my eyes adjusted, I spied Adrian's sleeping form next to me. At the other side of the room, Terra's bed now had an occupant. She must have finished her repair job for the night.

Wait. Where was Caelum?

I sat up. Caelum's bed was markedly absent of his burly figure. Where could he have disappeared to?

With sleep unachievable at the moment, I decided to go look for him.

I first checked the mess hall. It was locked, the windows dark. Other buildings, such as the sports center and the amphitheater, were similarly locked.

Looks like I had a midnight stroll ahead of me.

I ambled across campus, the walkways snaking all over. My breath misted in front of me, and I stuck my hands in my pockets in an attempt to warm them. While February in Vale might not bring snow, it sure got cold at night. It was much better than Atlas's frigid temperatures, though.

A gust of wind ruffled my hair, and I instinctively tucked my head into the collar of my light coat. But instead of the usual hollow whistle that accompanied wind roaring in the ears, I heard a whisper of music. I stopped, hoping to catch more, but the breeze lightened. Seconds passed before another gust brought a tone to my ears.

I followed it.

After a bit of trial and error, I came to a grove of trees. The music emanated from the center of the copse, so I clambered through the underbrush. A minute of dodging branches and tripping over roots and low-hanging vines rewarded me with the sight of a clearing. A few benches dotted the area, but the lone figure in the clearing was not using one.

Caelum simply played his violin and gazed at the stars.

I opened my mouth to call out to him, but I hesitated. Something in the music caused me to stay quiet.

I listened.

A single note, crisp and clear, pierced the night air. When the bow stroke ended, the next began, and a ream of notes tumbled out of the instrument. Each sound complemented the one before, and a larger musical picture began to take shape. As the ode continued, the occasional chord broke the melodic line, providing structure and direction. Crescendos and diminuendos accompanied the line.

The music was pure and unblemished, simultaneously artless and artful. Although it was my first time hearing it, my ears welcomed it like a long-lost friend. I strove to commit every aspect of the tune to memory.

True music of the spheres rarely graced the earth.

The final note rang as true as all the others had. My ears strained for more, making it hard to tell where the melody stopped and the silence of the night began.

Eventually, I came back to my senses. At once, I felt like I had stumbled upon a secret ritual, the kind confidants only hear whispers about. But no shame followed my realization. A melody demands an audience, especially one that flawless.

I swept a sleeve across my cheeks. When had I cried?

"Lovely night for stargazing, don't you think?"

Caelum's tenor was clear, even though some distance separated the two of us. At his suggestion, I looked to the sky. Even with Remnant's shattered moon radiating brightly, an inordinate number of stars dotted the heavens. Some twinkled, as if only a breath away from winking out of existence, while others burned with a ferocity that rivaled the moon.

"Quite," I replied. In the magic, words meant little.

Caelum beckoned to me, and I stepped towards him. The grass rustled beneath my feet, the sound punctuating the soft silence.

I stopped at his side. Caelum stood with a relaxed posture, Melody and Harmony held loosely at his hip. His face was angled upwards, his eyes drinking in the heavenly display. A smile played on his features.

I followed his lead.

"The stars unify us," Caelum began. "No matter where you are, you can always look up at night and see the same constellations as someone else. Friends and family, rivals and enemies, leaders and teammates—all of us have the same night sky.

"Scholars and philosophers debate how humans and faunus fought successfully against the Grimm for all these years. They chalk it up to our intelligence, our ability to communicate with one another, our technology, our Auras, our Dust. But that's where I disagree."

A shooting star shot across the sky. Its tail streaked behind it, tracing its path through the atmosphere.

Caelum continued.

"Language divides us. Religion divides us. Culture divides us. But the sky does not. All may look to the sky and reflect upon another day behind them, whether in the sands of Vacuo, the suburbs of Vale, the barracks of Atlas, or the abode-topped hills of Mistral.

"The sky belongs to us all, and we all belong to the sky. Nowhere else can you find such a universal perspective."

His piece finished, Caelum turned and entered the woods, headed back to the dorm. His footfalls receded behind me.

I was left alone. So I looked at the sky above.

Caelum was right. The sky did unify us.

* * *

 _Initializing…_

 _Scanning for updates…_

 _Logging in Hayes, Phoenix…_

 _Startup completed._

Welcome to Clover Search Engine!

Type a word or phrase below to begin searching.

Search phrase: "Cloverleaf Technologies"

 _Retrieving…_

Cloverleaf Technologies is a technology company based in the Kingdom of Atlas. Cloverleaf sells consumer electronics and software, including personal computers, Scrolls, and the Scroll OS. Revenue streams and quarterly earnings place Cloverleaf as one of the largest businesses on Remnant.

Cloverleaf was founded thirty-six years after the Great War by electrical engineer Irving Moore. During his tenure as CEO and CTO, Cloverleaf developed, manufactured, and sold the first personal computer. Prior to Cloverleaf's pioneering "Shamrock" machine, digital computing remained available only to universities and government organizations (for more on the origins of the Digital Age, see _History of Computing_ ).

Under Moore's continued guidance, Cloverleaf flourished, producing the precursors to today's Scrolls and technologies that led to the creation of the CCT System. Moore stepped down on Cloverleaf's twentieth year of operation, claiming he wanted to spend more time with his family.

Today, Cloverleaf owns a commanding market share in personal computing, software development, cybersecurity, and data storage and sharing. Additionally, while the CCT System is owned and operated by the governments of the four Kingdoms, Cloverleaf is often contracted to perform maintenance on the main towers and support dishes throughout Kingdom territory (for more on the CCT System, see _Cross Continental Transmit System_ ).

Critics of Cloverleaf's successes have raised concerns regarding the company's potential to amass a monopoly on consumer technologies. These concerns have led to the passage of policy that monitors acquisitions in the technology sector. Cloverleaf representatives have lobbied for changes to the policy, but to little avail.

 _For further reading, see the following:_

 _List of Cloverleaf Products_

 _Scroll OS_

 _Irving Moore_

 _The Digital Age_

 _Closing search…_

 _Saving cache…_

Goodbye, Phoenix.

* * *

A/N: I hope to have arrived at a balance in this chapter: exposition/world-building, action and fighting, and interaction among the members of team APCT.

As a side note, I wrote a majority of this chapter before I addressed the plot hole mentioned in the previous four that I tidied up. If there's a lack of cohesion here, it is likely owed to that. If it continues to bother me in the future, I will post an update when a new chapter comes out, and I'll let you all know when that happens.

As always, thanks for checking out my story.

Happy reading,

-CTech


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

After checking Recursive Nature for the fifth time in as many minutes, I decided I needed a break. I could only read the same paragraph so many times before dates and names of historical figures began to jumble out from my ears.

Oh, how I hated history. Give me a calculator any day.

As I leaned back in APCT's swivel chair as far as it would tolerate, I thought to the Vytal Festival qualification matches. Our fight against LPIS had been a rout. Adrian's decision to stay in pairs worked well—LPIS had poor team coordination, and so they stepped on each other's toes, both physically and metaphorically. But we weren't perfect either—or at least I wasn't. My face-full of Dust-tipped birdshot, courtesy of Brisk Solution, was proof of that.

In the meantime, I'd somewhat reconnected with students on campus. Various texts throughout the day, asking me how my mission went, were left largely unanswered until I received Ozpin's dossier. Once I did, I drafted a cookie-cutter response and just filled in the details.

I swapped my history textbook for APCT's team file. While stats on my teammates—Adrian: 5' 11"; Terra, B student at Umbra; Caelum, Mistralean native—were all well and good, I opted to read my "mission's" description instead. I planned to meet my parents this weekend, and a memory slip-up was the last thing I needed. Opening to the correct page, I began to scan its contents once again.

The first time I read Ozpin's cover story, I had almost laughed. Supposedly, our Atlas assignment went without a hitch, but a distress call from a nearby SDC mine had us stopping by for a visit. Some rampaging Atlesian Knight-130's were destroying company property, and it was up to us to stop them.

To make a long story short, my Semblance was invaluable against the robotic opponents, and I even offered to debug the dysfunctional software when all was said and done. The foreman took me up on my offer, and I found my way behind a computer screen in no time.

And that was when the explosion had happened.

A random imperfection in one of the Knights's Dust crystals caused a sudden discharge. While my teammates and I were merely roughed up, the electromagnetic blast fried Recursive Nature's motherboard. Not one to be without his weapon, I adamantly insisted on traveling to the city of Atlas to order a new motherboard. My teammates, expecting a short errand, returned to Beacon without me.

What followed was a convoluted mess of invoices, memos, and nondisclosure agreements.

Apparently, I ended up fraternizing with the Atlesian military. Because the parts I needed for Recursive Nature were custom-made, they took weeks to manufacture. The NDA's ensured no word of my whereabouts reached Vale.

While Ozpin's narrative was a bit hard to swallow—or, at least, for me it was—it did explain away any questions surrounding APCT's mission.

And most importantly, all word of the cyborg Grimm was suppressed.

In all, Ozpin's report took the most salient aspects of APCT's mission and connected them in a constellation that, unless you squinted hard enough, looked exactly as it did at face value.

Ozpin's genius did not disappoint.

Naturally, my teammates were interested in the dossier. As is common practice, the details of an ongoing mission are classified. Only when the mission is completed are the specifics released to the public. And so, the four of us pored over the reams of text the evening it had arrived.

A quick check to the Huntsman Mission Portal, endearingly called HUMS, confirmed Ozpin had not yet posted the "mission" brief. My Huntsman profile was as devoid of activity as it was the day I had created it.

I set my Scroll to the side and kept reading.

The sound of the door's lock disengaging broke my focus. Glancing up, I watched Adrian walk in and sit on the windowsill, newspaper in hand and mug at his lips. The aroma of coffee and chlorine tickled my nose as he walked by.

"Good morning," he greeted from his perch.

"How was your swim?" I asked, closing the dossier.

He shrugged. "A few thousand yards. Good for clearing the head."

"Whatever you say," I said. Seeing Adrian frown at some headline, I asked, "What's the news?"

"Oh, just an opinion piece," he replied. "I'm used to seeing my father's name in the paper, but it still isn't pleasant to see others denouncing him."

I swiveled to face him. "A bit of unpopular legislation, I assume?"

He shook his head. "Quite the opposite, I'm afraid. His position as Presiding Councilor makes him an easy scapegoat for political gridlock."

I rolled my eyes. "And what's the issue this time? Tax reform?"

"If only," he said, his frown deepening. "The SDC is lobbying for an end of Vale Dust subsidization. While this would lower taxes for the general citizen, the possibility for an SDC monopoly is staggering."

I completed his thought. "And knocking out government-funded competitors would drive down prices, but would give total control of the Dust market to the SDC," I said.

He nodded. "Precisely. But many economists are turning the blind eye, making the policy extremely popular. The other Council members are pushing for a vote, but my father manages to table it every time, to the disapproval of many."

Unfortunately. Lien wormed its way into even the purest of hearts. It was comforting to know that Adrian's father stood on the high road on this one.

"How do you think the whole thing will turn out?" I asked.

Adrian looked back to the article. "Given the amount of vitriol that even this _centrist_ writer has for my father, it's tough to imagine him ignoring the flood of public support. On top of that, the Council member next in line is a confirmed SDC sympathetic, so it seems inevitable."

I crossed my arms. "If it's inevitable the bill will pass, why try to prevent it at all?"

"My father was a Huntsman first," Adrian said. "Destruction by Grimm seems inevitable as well, but he trained to banish that mindset to the realm of impossibility." He smiled. "It looks like Vale's government hasn't yet discovered he's kept that rationale when he transitioned to politics."

I returned his smile. "This'll be quite the surprise, then."

Adrian chuckled. "No doubt. My father is a cunning man—he'll find a way to stop this legislation." Setting his newspaper down next to him, he asked, "How's the studying going?"

I groaned. "Sitting in second-year classes when I don't even belong in the first-year introductory courses is annoying… but I'll catch up eventually."

Ozpin, in yet another face-saving maneuver, kept me in all my second-year courses with my teammates. While this move staved off suspicion regarding my amnesia, the wasted class time frustrated me to no end. Fortunately, the teachers had been instructed not to call on me, so I managed to sneak in a few chapters of introductory coursework each lecture.

That still didn't help my midnight tendencies of falling asleep with my Dust textbook as a pillow. Terra's stockpile of potentially incriminating photos was proof of that.

So, in a way, Ozpin's decision had caused my stiff neck and forced interest in grey-hat hacking.

Great. Thanks a bunch, headmaster.

Adrian's gave a sharp laugh. "Contrary to popular belief, courses at Beacon don't move very fast. If you've cracked open a book, you're already ahead of the pack." He made a show of looking at the bookshelves. "Although, your choice in literature is a bit questionable."

"Hey," I exclaimed. "Mystery is the finest of all fictional genres."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure it is, because a pipe-smoking detective trumps elves and Huntsmen."

"But he does," I insisted. "Solutions don't always lie in brute force."

Adrian gave me an amused look. "I'm teasing. Not all of those books are yours—you pulled me into the genre when we were younger."

"Oh?"

"It was maybe first or second grade—I was wandering the shelves in the school's library when I tripped over you," he said. "In short, you shoved a few titles in my hands and wouldn't relent until I read them."

I put on a smug grin. "Sounds like you lucked out."

He shook his head with a smile. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Whatever," I said. Knowing my concentration wouldn't survive another half-hour of historical facts and figures, I left my chair and headed for the door. "I'm going to the Oak," I told Adrian.

"What for?" he asked.

I gestured to my wrist. "We've got finals tomorrow. Thought I'd get some practice in with Recursive Nature."

"Don't forget sparring class at 10," Adrian called to me. "Goodwitch normally shames those who are late."

I pointed at my timepiece. "I won't."

* * *

I sat cross-legged beneath a massive tree. While the uninitiated would see the tree as simply that, Terra's contribution towards my learning campus lore changed my perspective on the Oak.

According to the campus hearsay, the Oak was planted in memoriam to a slain faculty member of high tenure. Under the watchful care of Beacon's many groundskeepers, the tree grew thicker than some of the colonnades ringing the campus.

It was also the site for midnight rendezvous between hormonally-charged students with unbridled thrill complexes.

I couldn't help but search about for discarded condoms. Thankfully, I spotted none.

Putting thoughts of sexual escapades aside, I focused instead on the timepiece in front of me. Recursive Nature lay on the manicured grass, a technological contrast to the natural setting around it.

It was time to study my weapon.

As with my Semblance, my knowledge of Recursive Nature extended to basic application, borne from muscle memory and the necessity of battle. However, if I wished to truly earn the title of Huntsman, that would not do.

I activated my Semblance and plunged into the logical realm.

The Nexus, as I had taken to calling it, greeted me with its familiar pulses of information. The various modules waited before me, their individual forms hidden behind glowing façades. Pinpoints of light dappled the Nexus's walls, ceiling, and floor. Without the pressing need of a fight, I found the light show comforting, my own digital firework show.

After consulting the book I had checked out from the library, sans enigmatic messages, I was able to make more sense of my surroundings. As I had predicted earlier, each module was a program constantly stored in RAM—a cross-check with the littered comments in my program files confirmed that assumption.

Unlike the other virtual constructs I had encountered, the Nexus was entirely enclosed. This led me to assume that Recursive Nature was closed off to outside signals. Careful examination of the back of my wristwatch revealed a USB port, quelling my questions of how I updated my weapon's software.

An external port was needed because, as I discovered, I couldn't breach the Nexus's walls. No amount of bashing my bodiless digital representation of my consciousness against the Nexus's floors caused me to phase through them to some other cache of stored information. While this precluded any internal debates of Semblance-enabled hacking, I was also disappointed—such a tool would have been handy.

My next order of business was to determine how each module worked. The images each module placed in my mind's eye when I drew close were still an unexplained mystery, for my comments on the matter were silent and I had yet to decipher the more complex algorithms that operated Recursive Nature.

I found that merely entering a module did not begin my weapon's characteristic mechanical shape-shift. Rather, I had to manipulate a single bit of information first. While the strings of data were still unintelligible to me, meaning would surely come with practice.

With the more pressing mysteries either solved or tabled for later analysis, my curiosity led me to more playful experimentation. I wasn't surprised that activating an already active module did nothing, but I was pleased when selecting a second module in the process of transforming into a first seamlessly transitioned into the second.

Recursive Nature's design lent itself to my battle tactics. Unlike many of my peers, who wielded dual-form weapons, I had a Mistralean-army knife. However, to achieve the jack-of-all-trades status, I had to sacrifice speed. Where Terra's shotgun took a quarter of a second to switch to a bludgeon, or where Riptide needed a half-second to fold into a sniper rifle, Recursive Nature took almost two seconds to change from sword to laser gun. In the interim, I held a chunk of whirring metal, useless in a fight.

Puzzled by my weapon's comparatively sluggish transformations, I combed through Recursive Nature's file trees. A README with my weapon's specifications gave me unsatisfactory answers. My best guess as to why Recursive Nature's conversion speeds were so slow lay in the danger of overclocking either its internal computer or its Atlesian shape-shifting tech. A weapon of Recursive Nature's complexity absolutely begged for entropic mischief; if I snapped the reins too hard, I could end up with an exploding Dust crystal or locked up servos.

No, best to stay within the manufacturer's recommendations on this one.

The modules at my disposal numbered fifteen, although only a few were fit for battle. My longsword and laser gun were obvious choices, and the grappling hook would be useful in certain cases, but a wristwatch, a stethoscope, and a digital camera were hardly battle-worthy. So, effectively, I had two-and-a-half weapons and a baker's dozen tchotchkes.

So much for that Mistralean-army knife.

However, in the wake of displeasure that realization brought me, clarity came. Sure, a line of five weapons would make me adaptable, but in order to stay competitive, I would need to master _all five_ , as opposed to the two I had now. After all, the army needs not do the job of a single cadre.

My past self's decisions no longer seemed so careless.

A portion of last night's conversation with Adrian came to mind. Over dinner, we had ended up discussing our early days at Signal. As per the norm, all students designed their own weapons. Most thirteen-year-olds, as they were wont to do, rushed to pack their weapon frames with all types of blades and gun barrels. However, as Adrian noted, those that practiced mastery and subtlety ended up the victors. Top-ranked students didn't bristle with force but knew where to stick the knife.

I, on the other hand, was the exception.

Supposedly, my fascination with breadboards and programming, courtesy of my mother and a few hobby store visits, carried over to Signal. A series of unique circumstances revolving around a cereal-box sweepstakes and my mother calling in a few favors netted me top-of-the-line Atlas tech, which I promptly utilized to craft a prototype—Recursive Nature's grandfather, in a sense.

According to Adrian, the instructors at Beacon had ridiculed me. While some merely distrusted anything Atlesian, others steadfastly stood by their own field experiences and shunned new technology. In fact, the school's scythe wielder was sent to talk to me directly.

But, in all of my bullheaded wisdom, I pressed on.

Initially, I was like all the other students. I, too, had packed as much firepower as I could into my two-pound cube. But when I began to fall behind in the rankings, I took a hard look at the dozens of weapon designs I had and deleted all of them.

All, except for two: my longsword and my laser gun.

Recursive Nature was born.

Adrian told me that what followed was a rare single-mindedness, a state of flow that lasted for weeks and only ended when I topped Signal's ranking system. He said that I inspired him, and our friendship became a heated rivalry.

By the time Beacon had sent back their acceptance letters, Adrian was king of the hill. I trailed by only a few losses, but I'm sure those few losses felt like an ever-widening chasm.

Beacon offered a clean slate, a new mountain to climb. But then initiation happened.

And that's where Adrian's tale ended—for the time being, at least.

* * *

The mess hall was packed, more so than usual, forcing me to actually look for a place to sit. I was humored when the only seat available was next to one Lily Vermeer.

Serendipity, that.

I set my tray down and dropped onto the bench next to her. "Nice fight today," I greeted.

The sounds of my tray hitting the table and my greeting caused Lily to look up from her notebook. I couldn't help peeking at her notes—Dust manipulation, from the look of it.

"Oh, hello, Phoenix," she said. "And thanks. NDGO was a tough opponent."

I smiled. "I could tell. Even from the stands, it looked like two steps forward, two steps back."

"Yeah…" she trailed off. She twirled a lock of her blonde hair in her fingers.

Seeing Lily's face light up at my arrival had rekindled an internal debate, and it roared to full force in the silence. The question: do I tell people about my amnesia? The answer? Generally speaking, no.

Ozpin and Glynda were the first exceptions to that rule, but I considered my choice apt. After all, the headmaster and his de facto deputy held my future in their hands. Best not poke sleeping Nevermores.

My team was next, and I had no regrets about that decision either. In the past year, we had grown to trust each other to the fullest level. Who was I to deny them a secret that could jeopardize our lives?

But everywhere else, the exception held. I temporized with my mother because I didn't want to contradict myself—one did not tempt computer scientists with a contradiction—and friends and acquaintances need not be bothered with such trifles.

Well, total retrograde amnesia isn't a trifle, but it certainly isn't a pressing matter.

And then there was Lily.

From the way she embraced me a few days ago to the way she eyed me now, I could tell she was more than just a passing friend. I owed her my secret.

Or did I? I had no clue if she was the type to gossip. An offhand comment here could wind up plastered on every cork board before the end of the day.

Let's not get too impulsive here, Phoenix. Once a secret is told, it cannot be untold.

"Three months is quite a while," I mused. "Anything happen with the family while I was gone?"

Lily perked up. "Quite a lot, actually. Mom got a new secretary job, Dad got promoted, and my brother _finally_ completed his paperwork to attend Signal next year."

"Things seem on the up-and-up," I said.

She nodded. "Now if only LMON could qualify for the Vytal Festival. That would really cap things off."

I held up a finger. "While you fought well today, finals may not be so kind tomorrow."

Lily deflated a bit. "Yeah, I have to keep telling myself that," she said. "LMON has never defeated SPHR or APCT before."

I winked. "Maybe now's your chance."

She rolled her eyes. "As if. Adrian really drives you hard. I'm afraid I don't compare."

I blinked. I had forgotten that Ozpin's team-naming scheme crowned the first letter as leader. This morning's battle played in my head in a new light.

Suddenly, Lily looked dejected. Had I said something wrong?

"I—I've got to go," she said. She tucked her notebook under her arm.

"Lily? Is everything alright?"

Her redeeming look didn't have much strength. "I'll see you tomorrow, for better or for worse."

And then she was gone.

Sandwiches don't taste as good when they're covered in confusion.

* * *

My schedule said: Grimm Studies, instructed by Professor Peter Port.

I'd heard a lot about Professor Port. Hearsay made him seem less like a teacher and more like a garrulous uncle that everyone humored simply because he offered presents and kept a gun tucked under his belt.

My teammates saw Professor Port as a source of entertainment, but in different ways: Caelum took his stories at face value, enraptured at every turn; Adrian treated the "lectures" like one would a movie; and Terra satirized everything she could, from his pompous poses to his vociferous exclamations.

I entered Port's classroom expecting one of the mustachioed instructor's hubris-laced tales, waiting to see which camp I fell into.

Instead, a woman stood behind a wooden podium, Port off to the side, his usual boisterousness noticeably absent.

As we took our seats, I studied the woman. Gray hair pulled tight into a bun and a pressed suit suggested she rarely breached her air of decorum, if ever. While an observable lack of weaponry or armor on her person didn't automatically disqualify her as a Huntress, her examination of students filing in was one of a scholar, not a warrior.

At Port's request, the lecture hall fell silent. When she spoke, her voice filled the hall, clear and sure.

"Good afternoon, students. My name is Doctor Umber. I am the head of the psychology department at Vale University," she said.

A psychologist, then. But why was she in Grimm Studies?

"As you all know—and perhaps as Port has told you," she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, "Grimm are attracted to negative emotions. Instances of economic disaster, deadly plague, and political tension are often followed by an uptick in Grimm presence.

"However, Huntsmen and Huntresses sometimes have difficulty in engaging the Grimm enemy when an invasion occurs. To a young Grimm, any human or faunus is good prey, but older ones tend to avoid those with swords and guns."

In the meager amount of reading I'd conducted since arriving back on campus, I'd learned that the older a Grimm is, the more intelligent it tends to be. Now that she mentioned it, older Grimm evading Huntsmen and aiming at defenseless civilians would maximize the damage incursions caused.

After a pause, Doctor Umber continued. "Older Grimm are more dangerous, and that leads us to a conundrum: how do we attract those Grimm when they would rather slink away?

"The answer? Emotional manipulation."

Murmurs swept through the room. From Caelum's look of surprise and Terra's tilt of her head, I could tell this was a new concept for everyone. Adrian stared straight ahead—I wondered if he had encountered this tactic in any of his readings.

Doctor Umber waited until the whispering died down. Smiling, she said, "Today, we will practice amplifying our negative emotions. Then, we will work towards maintaining a battle calm throughout that agitated emotional state."

After a short demonstration from Professor Port and a few words of instruction, we split into groups of two teams each. Each group had an electroencephalogram, or EEG, that for scientific reasons beyond me somehow recorded our brain activity. The EEG's were hooked up to Scrolls, and the display on ours showed a blank readout.

According to the doctor, when the EEG was worn on the head, a battery of calibration tests would run automatically. When those were completed, the device would then monitor the wearer's emotional state. Further, the Scroll was preprogrammed to chime when a certain level of negative emotion was reached.

In a nutshell, we were training ourselves to freak out. Under supervision, of course.

Terra got the Scroll to chime in about ten seconds. Caelum took a bit longer, but he eventually swayed his sentiments to satisfy the rubric.

And then it was my turn.

I strapped the EEG on. The device's electrodes tingled where they touched my skin. A glance at the Scroll showed me rolling sine waves—my brain activity. The signal came, and I took a breath.

Whitewashed walls and harsh fluorescent lights filled my thoughts. An oppressive sense of captivity, of being confined, was batted back with anger.

No chime. I looked at the Scroll. Halfway there, by the doctor's standards. I reached deeper.

A biting wind chilled me to the bone. The cold metal grip of Recursive Nature made my hands numb. Shifting eyes sought out the enemy, but there were none to be found.

And then there It was. All snarling muzzle and slashing claws. Its eyes held no bestial hunger, nor cold intelligence as its circuits suggested. Rather, It stared back with a wretched mix of the two, a blend that should have never walked the face of the planet.

Our eyes locked. Then, It charged. Gaping maw, tooth and claw, death incarnate, It sprang—

 _Beep._

I bashed the memory back into the recesses of my mind. I no more wanted to think of that monstrosity than I wanted to drive Recursive Nature into my own foot.

I ripped the EEG off and handed it to Adrian wordlessly. He gave me a sympathetic look, one that calmed me a lot more than I thought it would. We swapped seats, and he put on the EEG.

No sooner had the battery of tests finished then did a chime come. The readout on the Scroll did not lie—Adrian had vaulted his mental state from calm and collected to downright petrified in less than a second. I would be impressed, if not for what his emotional aptitude implied.

Tearing the EEG's electrodes from his skull in much the same manner I had, Adrian and I shared a look. His features betrayed nothing. Not a hint of fear, anger, or anxiety lay behind his azure eyes.

What was going on inside that head of his?

" _It's a mental Semblance. Not illusions or anything like that, but not enough to have a great effect on the battlefield."_

His Semblance?

A piercing siren assaulted my eardrums, causing me to wince. Everyone around me, however, sprang to their feet. Students rocketed from the hall, ignoring shouts from our loquacious professor. I noted that Terra and Caelum joined the rush without hesitation.

"Sirens?" I asked, plugging my ears with my thumbs. However, instead of an answer, Adrian yanked me to my feet, motioned for me to follow, and ran for the doors.

Puzzled, I turned to the last person in the room. Doctor Umber was rummaging through her handbag, likely searching for her Scroll. "Those damned Grimm…" she muttered under her breath.

The Grimm. I needed nothing more. I spun and sprinted after my leader.

Time to put that reverse emotional therapy to use.

* * *

A short air ferry and a free fall from said ferry placed us in an open square. Spotting Vale's flag fluttering atop a marble-veneered building, I guessed APCT was stationed in front of City Hall for Grimm defense.

I smirked. Not like any present company had a special interest in that building.

Adrian filled the vacuum of power naturally, assigning various other Beacon teams to the corners of the plaza. At his urging, I switched out my longsword for my laser pistol. APCT huddled in the center of the square, anticipating the coming battle.

We waited.

I could sense the Grimm even before they rounded the street corners. Something about them churned the stomach, and my intestines were doing entire gymnastics routines at the moment. I gripped my pistol and deepened my stance.

A roar ripped through the air. The ground rumbled beneath my feet. They would soon be upon us.

At the first sight of their characteristic bone plating, I raised my gun. I fired off half a dozen shots before the creature collapsed. When the ash had cleared, three more Grimm had taken its place.

Two were Beowolves. Hardly larger than normal, they would barely pose a threat.

The third was an Ursa. I trained my sights on its head.

And then its cybernetic eyes locked with mine.

* * *

 _Initializing…_

 _Scanning for updates…_

 _Logging in Hayes, Phoenix…_

 _Startup completed._

Welcome to Clover Search Engine!

Type a word or phrase below to begin searching.

Search phrase: "Council of Vale"

 _Retrieving…_

The Council of Vale is the reigning legislative body of the Kingdom of Vale. Established in Vale's Constitution, the Council's job is to "enact any and all legislation deemed necessary for the operation of a strong and healthy Kingdom" (Article 2, Section 3).

The Council is comprised of nine elected Council members. In addition to the accompanying legislative responsibilities, each Council member is in charge of a different governmental department, e.g. the Department of Agriculture (for more information on the powers and responsibilities of each department, see _List of Vale governmental departments_ ). Council members serve for nine years, unless in the case of impeachment or resignation. One Council seat is held up for election a year, rotated based on department.

The most senior member of the Council, i.e. the seat up for election in the coming year, is the Presiding Councilor, responsible for calling meetings into session, bringing bills to vote, and setting the Council's political agenda. In the case of a tie vote with one or more Council members abstaining, the Presiding Councilor splits the vote.

 _F or further reading, see the following:_

 _Constitution of Vale_

 _List of Vale Council members_

 _List of Vale governmental departments_

 _Vale Court System_

 _Closing search…_

 _Saving cache…_

Goodbye, Phoenix.

* * *

A/N: Since Council members serve for nine years, and since Adrian's father is currently the Presiding Councilor, then he ran for election nine years ago. This places Phoenix's flashback with Adrian when they were nine. In my headcanon, Signal schooling begins after sixth grade, as youngsters wouldn't be able to handle the strain of physical and Aural training required of aspiring Huntsmen and Huntresses before then.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

The Ursa's cybernetic eyes glinted in the afternoon light, its metal and glass implants incongruous on such a primal force of darkness. The contrast of such opposite extremes of civilization was not lost upon me.

As my finger hovered over the trigger, my mind went into overdrive. My first thought: how could that thing be here? Second thought: how dangerous is it? Third thought: how do I defeat it?

Fourth thought: who was the one to play god with Mother Nature's twisted brood? Once was a byproduct of terrible coincidence. Twice was a pattern. After this fight, I needed answers.

As the cyborg Grimm and I stood across from each other, each poised with death in our eyes, the battle raged around us. Light and sound peppered my peripherals. Quartets of Huntsmen threw themselves into the masses of Grimm, dissecting them from the inside. All manners of weapons met their marks—swords sliced through bone, gunfire shot through muscle, and lasers singed what remained. Victory was at hand.

Except for the infernal tableau before me.

I glanced behind me. All of APCT faced the Grimm, each processing the sight. Caelum looked horrified, Terra grit her teeth in determination, and Adrian sported his characteristic calm. My admiration at my leader's equanimity quickly became tinged by doubt—what whirlwind stormed behind those cool blue eyes of his?

"Phoenix?" Adrian's voice was as steady as usual, but I detected slight apprehension. "Your Semblance… it's your decision."

Despite the situation, I smiled. Even in a firefight, where the lives of hundreds of innocent civilians were at stake, my leader wasn't willing to sacrifice me. The Huntsman Code likely promoted dying for the cause, but he wasn't afraid of going against the grain.

I had known Adrian for what was effectively a week, yet in that moment, the shrouded past felt all the more closer.

The cyborg beast padded forwards, building up speed for a sprint. Shooting Adrian a final look backwards, I said, "May foresight be our shield."

He grinned. "And wit, our blade."

With a battle cry and an application of my Semblance, I charged towards the enemy, longsword splayed out in a promise of severance. My teammates's voices joined mine, and they overtook me in seconds with Aura-powered strides. Adrenaline-charged euphoria drowned out my consternation.

Walking the razor of death made me feel truly alive.

As they raced by me, Terra and Adrian split their advance, engaging the cyborg's Beowulf retinue. Ahead of me, Caelum slowed and focused his Aura into his violin, assaulting the cyborg with invisible waves of sound. It screeched and attempted to avert its head.

Caelum gave me the perfect opening. I could end it right here. I almost felt Recursive Nature hum in my hand. I ran closer, close enough to make out the spiderweb of cracks in the Grimm's bone plating. I raised my sword.

Suddenly, the Grimm's mechanical implants flared. Like a marionette, the Grimm snapped to attention. All signs of its prior writhing had vanished. In its place was a paw flying towards my face. Taken by surprise, I barely deflected the blow and hastily retreated from the more powerful ones that followed.

Jumping out of range, I saw ash dispersing on the wind. When the dust cleared, Terra and Adrian rushed in from the sides. Terra began to hammer her bludgeon on the Grimm's flanks with reckless abandon, and Adrian used his staff to hinder any of the beast's further advances. Being the larger combatant, the Grimm flung itself from side to side, throwing out the occasional limb. My teammates kept light on their feet, but attacking a sedan-sized monster rarely ends with unscathed warriors.

Once again, the beast before me was distracted. I stepped into the Grimm's guard, eager to score a hit, when it head butted me and sent me flying. I hit the ground a few yards away, the breath knocked out of me. Gasping, I scrambled to my feet.

I watched as my teammates circled the Ursa. Caelum stayed out of range of paw and jaw, striking chords on his violin when possible. Adrian alternated between whacking the beast's legs and jumping back to fire off a few quick shots. Terra utilized her force projection to ward off blows from wayward limbs and hammered away.

However, despite their combined force, I could tell that the three of them weren't doing much to break through the Grimm's armor. Flashes from the Grimm's implants preceded each blow, somehow allowing it to minimize the damage received. The Ursa's fighting style looked less like a feral monster's than a fencer's, trading parry with riposte.

Its intelligence was chilling. I shuddered, even as I rejoined the fray.

Channeling Aura into my legs, I leaped onto the Grimm's back, taking care to avoid its varied bone spikes. Landing hard, I stabbed downwards with an Aura-infused hand. I buried my sword halfway to the hilt, but the Ursa reared up and threw me off before I could inflict any real damage. For the second time in a minute, I impacted the cement ground, my Aura flaring around me.

I rolled over and stood up, my limbs protesting at the action. "Adrian," I called. "What's the plan?"

My leader squeezed off a couple more shots before responding. "Jump on it again."

"Why?" I asked. "It didn't work last time."

Adrian ducked beneath a kick. "It reared up," he managed to get out before rushing forwards.

Trusting my leader's instincts, I took my place on the Grimm's back with another Aura-powered leap. After a quick scan, I drove my sword into the cut from earlier. As soon as I widened the incision, the Ursa rose up onto its hind legs. Even though I was prepared for the creature's bucking, I still almost lost my grip on my sword.

A spot of brown flashed in my peripherals, and reports from a shotgun sounded from beneath me. When the beast made no move to return to all fours, seemingly balancing precariously on its hind legs, I glanced up and saw a large white force field. Pulling my sword out, I pushed from the Ursa's back and hit the ground.

Ash showered me from behind. Turning, the dust dissipated to reveal Terra, a smirk replacing her scowl. I gave her a smile.

"Congratulations," I said. Terra looked about to respond when Adrian cut in.

"No time for dilly-dallying," Adrian said. "Grimm are still running rampant."

A look about the square confirmed his observation. Packs of Beowolves and the occasional Nevermore and Ursa populated the square. It looked like a graveyard, the bones were so numerous.

I gave Adrian a nod. As one, APCT dashed to the nearest Grimm and kept fighting.

The fighting carried on for many minutes, but after a while, I noticed a lack of sirens. A scan of the area revealed only a smattering of Grimm. I assumed whatever breach that had let the Grimm in had been patched. No longer defending the city from an invasion, we were left with the chore of cleaning up.

And then I heard Adrian curse next to me.

Without another word, he raced towards City Hall. Summoning what Aura I had remaining, I hurried after him. Only when I was halfway across the square did I finally see what had disturbed my leader.

A Grimm had crashed into the City Hall building.

In the seconds required for us to arrive at the gaping hole the Grimm had left, it had already receded into the darkened halls. The only thing marking its path was rubble from the wall it had destroyed. Without a pause to catch our breath, the two of us followed the plaster and pieces of brick scattered on the marble floors.

As we ran, I observed the town hall's corridors. In a normal setting, the halls would have felt pleasant and efficient, with various governmental events and community flyers posted to the walls. But in the dusty gloom, the corridors looked menacing. Or perhaps it was just the bestial grunting coming from ahead.

We reached an intersection, identical to all the ones we had seen before. However, at this one, Adrian cursed once more. Anxiety rippled off of him in droves, and for a second I felt petrified as well. Then, the moment passed, and we restarted our pursuit.

The hall ended at a suite of oaken doors. Plaques marked the offices, but in the dim light I couldn't make out the owners. Neither did I want to, for an Ursa lay before us, caked in debris.

"Hey!" Adrian shouted. At his cry, the Grimm turned to face us.

Its cybernetic implants glowed with an infernal light.

It roared, then returned to sauntering towards the offices. Its blatant dismissal of us worried me. If it wasn't after us, then who?

Then it hit me: Adrian's father. _Calder Douglas_.

Suddenly, Adrian's uncharacteristic desperation made sense.

With a yell, Adrian ran at the beast. He attacked the Grimm's back with abandon, Riptide battering its haunches. Only when it spun and flung Adrian aside with its paw did his fusillade stop. I tracked Adrian as he smacked into a wall and crumpled to the ground. I didn't need my Scroll to know his Aura was fully depleted.

All that was left between this beast and Calder's harm was me.

A quick once-over revealed that the Ursa looked as tough as the one I had fought earlier. My chances of defeating it with a drained Aura supply and tired muscles were slim to none. Attempts to lead it away from Calder's office would likely be thwarted by the beast's computational intelligence.

In other words, I was shit out of luck.

Except…

No, I couldn't.

The Ursa turned back to the door.

I had to.

If not for Calder, then for Adrian.

My Semblance clicked into action. I felt Recursive Nature in my palm, but I focused on the computational source in front of me. I sensed it pulse in an erratic way, causing me to instinctually retreat. Ignoring my inhibitions, I pressed forwards. I mentally reached out to the Grimm and its computer symbiont.

Reality shifted. Then there was pain. Stabbing white, an abysmal void.

Then nothing.

Thoughts failed to manifest. My senses discerned nothing—nothing, but the passage of time. I felt the seconds tick by as my mind failed to function.

A light appeared. A red glow, like the sunset, diffused through the space. I approached it before I could question whether I should.

At reaching the center of the light, data flooded my senses. Abruptly, I could think again. I analyzed the information with a calm that clashed with a harsh subliminal sound I could not identify. Why was I here?

A voice coalesced from the white noise. It spoke without emotion, although telepathy, if that was what this was, offered a horrible medium for such communication.

"Greetings, Phoenix," it said. How did it know my name? I tried to deactivate my Semblance, but whatever mechanism I used to trade realities seemed locked in place. I was trapped, at the whim of this mysterious voice. I bristled the best I could in this alien space.

"I am RUST," it said. "What I am does not concern you. But what you are interests me."

A Grimm AI? Or something else? I didn't dwell on the wider implications of such thoughts. I had more pressing matters to attend to—namely, responding to whatever this RUST was. My virtual consciousness did not have a mouth, yet I found I could speak. "Then what am I?" I asked.

RUST emitted a sound that could be considered a hum. Or was it a grunt? "A variable."

It offered nothing further. Not one to strike up conversations with Grimm virtual intelligences, I attempted to manipulate the data around me. I had downed a Grimm like this before, and if I couldn't kill it, I could at least search for a way to escape.

After all, if I couldn't, Calder might die, and I might become a fresh amnesiac.

Suddenly, I felt another consciousness clamp down on my own. The information I sensed diminished to a mere trickle. When I touched what little remained, it recoiled with an angry red glare and pushed me away.

RUST had blinded me.

"Now, now—behave. I have a few questions to ask you," RUST said.

"Very well," I said begrudgingly.

"First question: do you believe there's good in the world?"

"Yes." My response came without hesitation. From what little of the Grimm I had witnessed, I knew that the monsters were manifestations of hate and suffering. The warriors who combatted them combatted vice itself; they were paragons of virtue. Humanity and faunus-kind would continue to sin, but Huntsmen and Huntresses would prevent that sin from consuming them.

The very fact that evil had not annihilated us was proof that good walked among us.

"Interesting answer. Others believe that Huntsmen are good as well, but none have quite the conviction you do." RUST said. At my subsequent panic at having my mind read, it laughed and said, "You are like me."

No, I was nothing like the red glow, this bestial virtual intelligence that rasped at my virtual consciousness. I was human. It was machine and darkness.

"You are wrong, but I will speak no more of that," RUST said. "Second question: what would you sacrifice to keep that good?"

"My life." Huntsmen were expected to die to protect civilians. Old Huntsmen like Ozpin were few and far between, living proof that a dangerous lifestyle rarely goes unpunished.

"Ah, but what about others? An eye for an eye makes the world blind, but one eye to save two, or two to save four—or a million to save two million?"

"That's slaughter," I said.

"Or is it virtue?" RUST asked.

I growled the best I could in the red virtual reality. "Enough, RUST. Why am I here?"

RUST seemed to laugh again. "Because you forced your way in."

"To save someone," I said. "Not to argue with you."

"Yet here we are," RUST mused.

RUST was getting on my nerves, and the Ursa could be barreling its way into Calder's office right now. Philosophy aside, I needed to stop this beast.

I approached the rope of data that was RUST. Mentally grabbing the entire string, I forced the information to 0. I felt bits protest and then relent. Immediately, RUST disappeared from my awareness, the red glow faded to black, and the data from before returned. Not knowing whether RUST would reassert itself, I grasped any information I could and rearranged it, hoping to crash the Grimm's computer.

I knew I had accomplished my job when the RAM nexus blinked from existence and my Semblance deactivated of its own accord. Finding myself back in the hallway, I stared at the sight before me.

The Ursa looked to have not taken a single step. Instead, it lay slumped on the floor, writing like an electric shock was running through it. For all I knew, it was, but I didn't care to find out. I gripped Recursive Nature and advanced for the kill.

My sword sliced through the Grimm's head easier than I expected. However, just before my blade touched the Ursa's neck, the frenetically flashing cybernetic implants gave a single pulse and then went dark. Once the head hit the floor, the beast began to disperse into a pile of ash.

I allowed myself a sigh, then rushed to Adrian's side and gave him a weak shake. His eyelids fluttered, his gaze unfocused. After a few seconds, he trained his eyes on my face, all traces of his dazed state absent. I saw the question on his lips and readied a defensive reply.

"How is he?" Adrian asked.

My response died on my tongue. Adrian must know I used my Semblance, then. Perhaps he wished to discuss the matter later. That was fine by me. I'd answer the easier question.

Glancing at the office suite, I shook my head. "I'm not sure, I haven't checked yet. But the Grimm's dead," I replied.

Adrian struggled to his feet. "Then he's safe," he said. "Let's go check on him."

"Adrian," I started. "The Grimm had an…"

"Later," he said. "My father first."

Stepping around the pile of ash, we approached the office at the end of the hallway. Adrian grasped the handle and pushed the door open, revealing a reception area with a secretary's desk and a waiting area replete with magazines. At the rear of the space was a heavy door and another plaque. The plaque read: "Calder Douglas, Council of Vale."

Adrian shouldered the door open. "Dad?"

A pair of brown eyes and salt-and-pepper hair rose from beneath a massive desk. "Adrian? Is that you? Oh, thank goodness!" Calder emerged from his hiding spot and rounded the desk. The Councilor wore a pressed pinstripe suit that accentuated his muscular frame, but his most prominent feature was his easy smile.

"Glad you're okay, Dad," Adrian said. "That Grimm was pretty close, I was worried."

Calder gave a hearty laugh. "Looks like you made quick work of it, though."

"Well, actually Phoenix did," Adrian said.

Calder looked to me, his face lighting up. "Phoenix Hayes! I haven't seen you since Signal graduation, what with Beacon and the Council and all," he said.

I shrugged. "Yeah, life tends gets in the way," I said.

"Exactly, exactly," he said enthusiastically. "You know, I was so excited when I found out you and Adrian were on the same team. APCT's got a nice ring to it, don't you think, Adrian?"

Adrian gave a nod. "The name's the thing," he said simply.

"Precisely. Can't change the world without a good team behind you," Calder said.

A Scroll chimed from beneath a swarm of papers on Calder's desk. "That must be Ozpin," Calder remarked. As he rifled through the mess, he said, "Procedure, procedure, procedure. Ah, here it is." He began to tap at it, his eyes darting about as he read.

"Why's Ozpin contacting you?" I asked.

Calder swiped at his Scroll a few times before answering. "You see, in the event of a Grimm invasion, the Vale government and Beacon Academy work together to strategically deploy combat teams in the city. For example, I suggest spots to focus police presence to calm citizens, while Ozpin identifies stress points of high Grimm density."

Raising a finger, Adrian added, "Beacon and City Hall are essentially autonomous units. Neither one nor the other is entirely in charge of emergency situations."

"A mild side effect of Vale's unique governmental structure," Calder said. "As for what Ozpin said just now, he asked me to hold a press conference on the steps of City Hall as soon as possible. He wants Vale to know we are still strong after this attack."

I raised my eyebrows. "Already? So soon after the attack?" I asked.

Calder chuckled. "Yes, well, it's better to act fast with these things, especially since the populace is probably under a lot of stress. A preliminary statement goes a long way in reassuring the public."

I nodded. "Very well, I'll let you get to it, then."

Calder shook his head, his smile infectious. "Oh, no, you're coming with me. Ozpin insists."

"What do you mean?" Adrian asked.

Calder was already headed out the door. "Follow me," he said with a wave of his hand.

Trading looks of confusion with Adrian, I shrugged and trailed the Councilor. The three of us passed through the waiting area and back out into the hallway. Once there, however, Calder called out a greeting to another man. The man looked to have just emerged from an adjacent office. A look inside revealed a similar setup to Calder's.

"Hello, Councilor," he said.

"Presiding Councilor Douglas, I see you've weathered the attack as well," said the man.

Calder laughed. "Well, I wouldn't have without the saving graces of my son and his friend," he said. "Oh, I've forgotten my manners! Let me introduce you. This here is Councilor Orrin Glass. Councilor, this is my son, Adrian, and teammate Phoenix Hayes. Both are enrolled at Beacon."

Glass examined me with a gaze that edged on a cold stare. The dim lighting gave his jet black hair a sharp sheen and made his dark suit look part of the shadows. "You've got good boys, Douglas," he said. "I assume they're the ones that stopped the Grimm that was loose in City Hall?"

Calder beamed. "They did indeed. I'm very proud of them."

"As you should be," said Glass. "Also, I received your message."

"Then is everything being set up?" asked Calder.

"It is. Let us head to the front entrance," said Glass. "I've written out a few points. I've a few words to say myself."

"Very good. Let's go." Taking Glass's proffered speech notes, Calder strode towards the entrance of the building. As I followed, I found Glass falling into step with me. Our steps echoed hollowly on the walls.

"Phoenix, was it? I must thank you personally for saving the two of us. You did your Kingdom a great service," he said.

"Don't thank me, it's my job," I said. "And Adrian was the one who spotted the Grimm, not me."

"But you both fought it, no?" he posed.

"Well, I suppose," I said. "Regardless, any other Huntsman would have done the same thing in our place."

Glass hummed. "Still, good deeds must be recognized," he said.

As we walked, I picked out details that I had missed when he had stood in the shadows. His suit was pressed and had a white pocket square, neatly folded in the pocket. His brown hair was combed smartly, with not a hair out of place. Even his walk bespoke an air of authority. Perhaps I had mistaken coldness for uptight decorum.

"Youth tend not to follow politics, so you are probably wondering who I am," Glass said. "I'm your head of the Department of Commerce. As a Vale Councilor, I meet with business heads every day."

"Are you a businessman yourself?" I asked. His behavior certainly implied it.

"My father was a businessman," he began. "Much like how fathers want their children to compete in sports, mine encouraged me to study economics. After all, it was where his prominence came from, and he only wished the best for me."

"And did you end up owning a business?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "For a short time. Not for long, though. I felt I had greater talent for politics, so I left that lifestyle behind."

"Well, looks like things turned out well for you," I said.

"Indeed," he said.

We rounded a corner to find Calder conversing rapidly with Adrian. Behind them were the doors to the front steps, the crowd in the square blurry behind layers of glass. When Glass and I drew closer, Calder looked up and turned to face us.

"Here's the plan," said Calder. "We're to exit the doors together, with myself in the lead and Councilor Glass to the rear. I will make the first address, then Glass will speak a few words."

I frowned. "What should we do? And what about the other Council members?"

The answer came from beside me. "By a stroke of luck, the other Councilors were all out on meetings or on a day of leave. They will not be here in time to make a statement. The two of us will suffice," said Glass.

"That's true," said Calder. "As for your other question, you and Adrian will stand off to the side and acknowledge any applause that comes your way."

Adrian cut in. "In other words, look pretty for the cameras."

Calder laughed. "Precisely, precisely." His Scroll gave another chime. "Well, now's the time. Let's line up."

At Calder's direction, we formed a line and then passed through the glass doors. Once I stepped outside, a susurrus of activity reached my ears. An assembly of about one hundred people stood before a hastily constructed stage at the foot of the City Hall stairs. I estimated that about a fourth of those gathered were reporters, notepads and Scrolls at the ready.

We marched to the stage, where Calder took his place behind a podium. After a smattering of applause, he began to speak. His address was short and concise, touching upon how the Grimm were eliminated, that the danger was contained, and how Vale would recover from this disaster. As a final note, he promised to report details that any investigations uncovered regarding the invasion.

Applause punctuated the switching of speakers, and Glass assumed his position behind the podium. Without referencing his notes, he began to speak with a clear and powerful voice, his charisma palpable. His speech doubled Calder's on many points. But then I heard my name mentioned.

"…Huntsmen-in-training Phoenix Hayes and Adrian Douglas, both from Beacon, slew a lone Grimm in City Hall. In doing so, these two warriors saved the lives of both myself and Councilor Douglas. I cannot express my gratitude for what these two young men have done."

Applause. "As such, I extend a formal invitation to these two—and their two teammates at Beacon—to this year's Vale Gala."

Applause. I shot Adrian a sideways glance but kept my face composed. Glass continued. "You four will be the people of the hour. If you attend, I ensure the warmest of welcomes."

The rest of the speech passed uneventfully. Once Glass had finished and Calder had answered some of the reporters's questions, we dismounted the stage and returned to City Hall's foyer. It was only after formalities had finished and Adrian and I were walking through Vale's streets was I able to ask my burning question.

"What's the Vale Gala?" I asked.

"No," Adrian said. "First—the Grimm. Tell me."

My simmering distress surrounding the two cyborg Ursa roared to full force at Adrian's mention. Everything had happened so fast I hadn't the time to mull over the deadly significances of a new type of enemy.

"I used my Semblance to immobilize it," I said. "I then used Recursive Nature to kill it."

"There's more, isn't there?" Adrian asked. "You said that the Grimm had something."

I paused. The existence of a Grimm AI was disconcerting, to say the least. If more cybernetic Grimm prowled Vale's forests, then impending danger of the highest degree was on the horizon.

But telling the wrong person would only hasten its arrival.

"It had an… AI."

"An AI?" Adrian sounded incredulous.

"It called itself RUST," I said.

Adrian stopped. "Wait—the Grimm not only had an AI, but you talked with it?"

"Yes."

"What did it say?"

"It asked me if I believed there was good in the world," I responded.

Adrian threw up his hands. "Great, an AI smitten with philosophical musings. What does that mean?"

"I don't know," I cried. "But there must be more of them. Thankfully, no one knows about them… yet."

Adrian looked up. "Ozpin knows, and not just about our case from that mission in Atlas. He's hiding something from us."

Speaking of Ozpin…

"There's more, too," I said. "When I arrived in Vale, Ozpin was there. I didn't contact him when I escaped, though, which begs the question: how did he know I would arrive at the Vale Airport that evening?"

Adrian was silent for several seconds, ostensibly in contemplation. "And you don't know what that Atlesian facility was for?"

"No."

"Then we must have a word with our dear headmaster," he concluded.

"Great. A mysterious note, cyborg Grimm, and scheming headmasters. And now the Gala. Explain," I said. With the change of subjects, we began to walk once more towards the air ferry service.

"The Vale Gala is an annual event," Adrian began. "Dinner is served, and speakers and entertainers fill the evening's program. All of Vale's upper echelon attends. To be on the guest list without a fancy title like CEO or Councilor is a high honor."

"Why did he invite us, though? Simply thanking us on stage would have been enough," I said.

Adrian knitted his brow. "I'm not sure, either. Glass isn't one for frivolous displays—he prefers efficiency. Something greater is at play here."

"Can we refuse the invitation, then?"

My leader shook his head. "No. My father will be in attendance, so our absence would raise questions. Further, Ozpin frequently is a Gala patron, so school excuses won't hold water, either."

I completed his thought. "So, essentially, it would look bad and hurt your father."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, you can say that."

"Then we need to tell Caelum and Terra," I said.

"Let's get on a ferry first," Adrian said. "Then we can worry about getting Terra into a formal gown."

I chuckled. After all that had happened, it felt good.

* * *

Caelum had taken the news of the Gala well. Apparently, he had attended such fêtes on a semi-regular basis back in Mistral. He had even rushed to his closet to check the hemming of his tuxedo.

Terra, on the other hand, had protested vociferously. Vacuo wasn't too big on formalities, and she did not have a single dress in her wardrobe. Adrian, anticipating such a thing, grabbed Terra by the ear and led her to an air ferry to go shopping. I tagged along for a tuxedo, since I found that I did not have one at Beacon.

Once the requisite outfits were purchased, we returned to Beacon. Upon arriving, we found that school had been cancelled for the remainder of the week due to the recent invasion. Professors were to help repair the city or thin out the Grimm population in the vicinity, leaving no staff to teach students. Vytal qualification matches were moved to the following week.

Unfortunately, that also meant that Ozpin was tied up in meetings, leaving no time to answer our trivial questions. Cyborg Grimm would have to wait.

Therefore, APCT turned its attention to the Vale Gala. Today was Wednesday, and the Gala would be held Friday evening, leaving two days to prepare. Adrian provided me with the necessary background information on current events, local politics, and the grapevine gossip circling about Vale. I also studied the profiles of celebrities and business owners that might be in attendance.

When Friday evening finally rolled around, my head felt like a tabloid. However, gossip wasn't our focus. Rather, it was why we were going in the first place. Once we settled ourselves in the plush recliners of a private air ferry, Adrian began to speak.

"There's only one reason why Councilor Glass would extend an invitation to us," he said. "And that's my relation with my father. I suspect political posturing with my father as the scapegoat, but somehow I'm involved."

Caelum fiddled with his bowtie. "Could it have something to do with the Grimm you killed in City Hall?"

My leader shook his head. "Doubtful. But any random topic wouldn't require my presence. I fear I'm the link in all this."

Terra rolled her eyes. "Please, Adrian. Glass is probably just a masochist and wants you to squirm when he calls out your father."

"That's harsh," I said. "But a real possibility. Has there been any talk of scandal recently?"

"Aside from general invective surrounding my father's decision to keep certain legislation from a vote, none."

"Then that must be it," Terra concluded.

I turned to Adrian. "You mentioned something about Dust subsidization earlier. Is Glass a supporter of the bill?"

Understanding flashed in his eyes. "SDC…" he muttered.

Terra growled. "What does the SDC have to do with this?"

Adrian looked at her. "Glass has shares in the SDC. Even among the popular support for the bill, rumblings of doubt circulate that Glass might profit from its passage."

I frowned. "So, corruption is behind Glass's invitation."

"And masochism," Terra added.

Adrian shot Terra a glare. "It's a weak link, but it's all we have to go on. Keep your ears to the ground, and contact my Scroll if anything comes up."

"Received," Caelum said with a salute. Terra and I gave affirmations as well, albeit less enthusiastic ones.

The ferry landed among a throng of other private craft just steps away from City Hall. We emerged from our ferry amidst a sea of red carpet, formal wear, and sparking flashbulbs. The endless chatter assaulted my ears, but I managed to pick out our names from the din.

We had arrived.

Without magnate status to give us the reins of social interaction, we succumbed to the flurry of activity around us. Countless introductions were made, inordinate hands were shook, and faces passed into and out of view in a dizzying manner. My right arm and my zygomatic muscles ached. It was only when I finally sat at my assigned seat in the dinner hall was I able to relax.

As I massaged my arm, I looked about the hall. Tall pillars ringed the walls, giving the space an aged power befitting of such events. A string quartet performed on a stage, their music filling gaps in conversations. People in suits and formal gowns milled about, flutes of champagne dangling from gloved fingers.

And then there was APCT, sheep among Beowolves.

I glanced around our table. APCT filled half the available seats, and our companions had yet to join us: the CEO of a weapons manufacturing company and the designer of a high-end line of clothes, if the name tents were to be believed. Interesting company if only the situation was different.

Next, I studied my teammates. Terra looked as ruffled as I likely did, social overload wearing at her deportment. Adrian, on the other hand, seemed largely unaffected by the hubbub, and Caelum had a rosy tint to his cheeks that suggested he was the only one enjoying the evening so far.

In time, salads and appetizers appeared before us, delivered by well-dressed servers. When our table mates finally arrived, we traded small talk that belied the tension running between the four members of APCT. A main course followed. It was delicious, but my nerves kept me from enjoying it. I hadn't heard a word about Calder the entire evening. If Councilor Glass was planning something big, he certainly wasn't showing it.

I was about to ask Adrian where Glass was when a squeal of feedback echoed through the space. Conversation ceased, and all eyes turned to the stage. Glass stood behind a sleek steel podium, adjusting a microphone.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "My name is Orrin Glass. Allow me to formally welcome each and every one of you to the Vale Gala."

Glass proceeded to thank the facilitators of the Gala, tell a few stories and jokes, and acknowledge guests of honor, including APCT. His speech felt nearing its end when his tone of voice darkened.

"Unfortunately, I must interrupt the mirth of this evening with a spat of terrible news. Just this afternoon, I received reports from our VPD detectives confirming the source of the invasion: a Dust explosion."

Murmurs spread through the room, which quickly grew to an uproar. After a while, Glass motioned for quiet.

"We have identified that a crate of Dust destabilized on its way into the city from Forever Fall Forest. The explosion damaged the defensive walls ringing the north and attracted Grimm. A nearby Huntsman patrol sighted the oncoming Grimm and raised the siren, but failed to plug the hole the explosion caused.

"The wall has been repaired, but the explosion originated in the first place from an unaccredited Dust vendor. Without complying with SDC standards, that company's recklessness cost Vale hundreds of lives and hundreds of thousands of Lien. And who's to blame for this?"

Glass paused again, not to quiet the crowd, but for dramatic effect. I shot Adrian a worried look. He returned it with his usual calm, but his fingers flying over his Scroll's surface told me he shared my fears.

"Presiding Councilor Calder Douglas."

The resulting outcry took minutes to silence. All the while, Adrian tapped at his Scroll.

"Douglas's refusal to bring the Dust subsidization bill to a vote has resulted in death and destruction to our citizens. His staunch ignorance of proper policy shall end now.

"I call for the impeachment of Councilor Douglas."

Pandemonium erupted. Adrian leapt from his chair. The rest of APCT bolted after him.

Glass had made his first move. He thought he had a checkmate. But now it was our turn.

* * *

 _Initializing…_

 _Scanning for updates…_

 _Logging in Hayes, Phoenix…_

 _Startup completed._

Welcome to Clover Search Engine!

Type a word or phrase below to begin searching.

Search phrase: "Orrin Glass"

 _Retrieving…_

Orrin Glass is a member of the Council of Vale and the head of the Vale Department of Commerce. He is currently in the eighth year of his nine-year term.

Glass was born in Vale three decades following the Great War. He was raised in an upper-class household, as his father, Alan Glass, owned the prominent Glass Freight Company. As the son of the family to usher in a new era of trade, Glass received his education from personal tutors pulled from institutions of higher learning from all over Remnant.

Glass took the CEO position of Glass Freight following his father's death. In the years that followed, Glass brokered an acquisition by the Schnee Dust Company, preferring to pursue a career in politics. From the acquisition, he received and continues to hold a nontrivial share of stock in the SDC.

Glass began his campaign for a seat on the Vale Council eleven years ago to lukewarm reception. However, after three years of careful campaigning, including his capitalization on the Forrest memo scandal, Glass defeated the incumbent Councilman Forrest in a landslide victory, earning a seat on the Council of Vale, where he sits today.

Currently, Glass enjoys a high level of public approval due to his ability to keep tariffs and industry taxes low and reduce trade restrictions. Some murmurings of SDC corruption arise on a semi-weekly basis, but a consistent public image and many press briefings have done much to quell public dissatisfaction.

 _For further reading, see the following:_

 _List of Vale Council members_

 _Forrest memo scandal_

 _Glass Freight Co._

 _Schnee Dust Company_

 _Closing search…_

 _Saving cache…_

Goodbye, Phoenix.

* * *

A/N: I have finally committed the worst crime a fanfic writer can. *Cue Beethoven's Fifth* Posting late!

But seriously, I had a family vacation and then orientation week upon moving in to college. Traveling several states and participating in all-day programming hardly gives ample breathing room, especially to write. Thus, for those that follow this story, I apologize for being a week (and then some) days late. I may have to change my upload schedule, but we'll see how these next two weeks go.

In other news, Phoenix has encountered another cyborg Grimm. Throw in mysterious headmasters, political posturing, and amnesia—and Phoenix has his hands full! With that in mind, I hope to bring the plot to a climax in the next several chapters. Hope you all enjoy.

Also, by the way, I may or may not have a Pokémon fanfic in the works. Right now it's still in the incubator phase, but when I have a decent amount, I'll begin posting.

-CTech


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

"…Douglas is responsible…"

"…knew something was different about…"

"…never should have trusted a Huntsman…"

Fragments of conversation assaulted my ears as we ran, gowns and suits flitting past as we skirted around tables and chairs. Some cast a glance our way, but most were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay the four of us any mind. Normally, I would have been disgusted by the way these aristocrats and moguls climbed the social ladder amidst political turmoil, but my attentions lay in avoiding obstacles.

Yet it was clear to me that the banquet hall hummed with negative sentiment. Calder no doubt had his supporters in this crowd, but in the wake of Glass's statement, their voices fell silent in the face of sowed doubt, agitation, and I-told-you-so's.

As a warrior, I preferred a sword, but as I navigated the hall, I realized that gossip was as sharp a weapon as my own. Dissent damaged more than violence—soldiers could be disarmed, but rumors festered with lives of their own.

Glass had unleashed a beast, and it was our duty to try to contain it.

Another squeal of feedback sounded through the space, doing little to quiet the chaos. Through the ruckus, I heard Glass's smooth voice, cutting into the cacophony like only a silver-tongued orator could.

"Calder knew of the explosion, of course. He called for his son to protect him from the enemy he loosed upon the city. Even now, his son flees, as guilty of corruption as his detestable father."

Ah, there was Glass's ace.

I felt eyes swivel towards me, but I dared not look, else I stumble at the baleful glares I would surely find. Besides, I knew that if I glanced down, I would start a shouting match I didn't have the time for. Instead, I settled for a jutted chin in an attempt at warding away invective.

"…those damnable children saved that corrupted…"

"…ensure that Ozpin fails them…"

"…their generation will undo all of our…"

The flow of conjecture and hearsay pummeled me from all sides. The fact that my name passed their lips along with their baseless theories only caused my distress to intensify. My stomach roiled as empathetic worry morphed into personal consternation.

I stopped myself from deploying Recursive Nature, if only to refute their claims. If I gave into the temptation, worse things would result than a battered reputation.

"Guards, stop them," commanded Glass from the stage. At Glass's mention, I spied a scattering of event security personnel ringing the hall. The guards, already unsettled from the commotion, ceased nervously thumbing their handheld radios and rushed towards us.

"…blasphemous that Beacon housed criminals…"

"…held responsible for the deaths they caused…"

"…eager to see them behind bars…"

My Aura stirred within me, restless and ready for battle. Directing some of that power into my legs, I vaulted over a table. Patrons beneath me gasped and cried out. Silverware clanged and clattered. My shoes hit the carpet soundlessly, and I continued my race through the crowd.

"Terra." Adrian's voice to the left, measured and sure. Even in a sea of disorder, he braved the waters with a calm hand. Unbidden, thoughts of the EEG flashed into my memory, which I forced away. I couldn't afford a loss of focus.

"Got it." Terra's reply from the right, curt and strong. A look to the oncoming guards showed them struggling behind glowing white force projections.

"Head to two o'clock, don't engage." We shifted course towards a set of side doors. In seconds, we emerged from the array of tables, running in the carpeted space without obstruction. With Terra's projections in place, we arrived at the doors without further complications. Caelum, in the lead, bashed his shoulder against the wood and stumbled through the doorway. The rest of us followed.

"Where to?" asked Caelum. However, without giving a reply, Adrian sprinted to the right, receding into the maze of hallways. Trading glances with my teammates, we dashed after him.

Lefts and rights blurred together as we headed deeper into the complex. After a few turns, I could no longer recognize any landmarks from my visit a few days prior. It seemed Adrian was not taking us to his father's office—or Glass's, for that matter.

My thoughts churned, as directionless as I was. Cognitive dissonance at the recent events threatened to overpower me, a cry of frustration building in my chest. I longed for catharsis, yet I tamped down on my writhing mental state. Answers would have to wait.

Suddenly, Adrian shot through an unassuming doorway and into a darkened room. A few steps behind, I only caught a glimpse of the sign outside the room, marked "Server Room," before I entered as well. I heard Caelum and Terra step in behind me, followed by the sound of a shutting door.

As I walked further into the room, my eyes adjusted to dark. Green diodes from server stacks on either side of me blinked. As I examined the stacks, a sense of familiarity washed over me, assuaging my fears and irritation. Even so, my discontent simmered behind my curiosity as to why Adrian had brought us here.

My leader led us to a computer terminal. The terminal, a bulky thing that looked ten years too old, was littered with sticky notes and discarded pencil stubs. The monitor glowed a green that aroused nostalgia within me I identified but could not place. The screen's light reflected off the keys, projecting shadows that reminded me of chessboards and lunar craters.

Adrian stopped and turned to face us. His tuxedo jacket was rumpled and his bowtie lay askew, yet his face was a study in collectedness. His azure eyes sparkled in the weak light.

"Welcome to City Hall records," he said, motioning to the room with a flourish of his hand. "Phoenix, if you would."

I gestured to the terminal. "What do you want from there?"

His brow furrowed. "My father isn't responsible for that explosion, but Glass wouldn't have left a trail leading to my father's exoneration—he's too careful." He looked pointedly at the terminal. "But in what he left…well, the holes will suggest a solution."

I faced the other half of APCT. Caelum's tuxedo was wrinkled similarly to Adrian's. His crossed arms suggested surety, but he wore his determined features like an ill-fitting mask—where had his smile gone?

Next to him, Terra played with the hem of her knee-length skirt, clearly uncomfortable in the garment. Tufts of hair framed her face, with traces of her intricate hairstyle all that remained of an afternoon spent at the beauty parlor's. But even as she fidgeted with her dress, I sensed the strength she would unleash if danger but showed its face.

APCT must not falter tonight. And APCT _will_ not falter.

I would make sure of it.

Giving Adrian a nod, I stepped to the terminal. Tapping into my Aura, my Semblance surged forth, and reality shifted.

The terminal's nexus, marked by regular flashing bits and trails of data, was so much more inviting that RUST's alien construct. I relaxed, familiarity anchoring my thoughts. I glided to the nearest banded stack, ready to analyze.

After a few seconds of passive observation of the various stacks, I finally located the file manager. Melting into it, I absorbed the latent data. Numbers peppered my consciousness.

Then, I realized those numbers wouldn't help.

I cursed my lack of experience manipulating file managers—my Semblance had no control over data storage, and I doubted my ability to use the file manager as an effective medium for file recall. A methodical search did not lay in my future this evening, as much as I would have wished it otherwise.

Instead, I gave the banded stack a treatment analogous to kicking a vending machine and deactivated my Semblance. The server room materialized around me.

Motion from the terminal caused my eyes to snap to the screen. Lines of text flowed past, scrolling by so rapidly I barely registered the first two letters of any single entry. Seconds passed, yet still they came.

"Great, he's crashed it," muttered Terra from behind me.

"Terra," growled Caelum. His gruff tone prompted me to tear my eyes from the screen to look at him. A hint of a scowl colored his features. My surprise at his strange temperament was curtailed by Adrian's voice.

"It's done," my leader said, a finger pointing to the computer. A glance to the screen confirmed his observation. Above a blinking cursor sat hundreds of directories and miscellaneous files, with no indication as to how many more lay offscreen.

I gave a weak laugh. "I found what you wanted."

Adrian grunted, but I didn't miss his slight smile. "Now filter it," he said.

Rolling my eyes, I returned to the terminal. Fragments of syntax came to mind as my fingers hovered over the keys. After consulting a help page, I entered a single command and pressed 'Enter.'

The terminal cleared, then outputted lines of text as before. However, this time the files were ordered by author. When the process ended, I scrolled through the array, searching for Glass's name. The organized list allowed me to locate his directories in seconds.

"There," said Adrian. He handed me his Scroll. "Copy them."

I set his Scroll onto a Scroll reader that looked as old as the terminal itself. After the clunky machine sluggishly completed synchronization with the device, I keyed into the Scroll's directories. From there, I copied Glass's files. The four of us watched as a progress bar inched to the right at a mind-numbingly slow pace.

Either Glass had a lot to say, or the decade-old technology lacked any kind of virtual horsepower. I suspected both, much to my chagrin. I drummed my fingers on the computer's plastic casing, a hollow metronome for the languid bitstream.

Suddenly, the door to the server room clanged open. Sounds of boots and unlatched safeties rang through the space, followed by commands of "hands where we can see them" and "freeze."

"Subtle," Adrian murmured. Shrugging off his surprise, he commanded, "Caelum, screen. No guns. Split up." Finished, he crouched and stalked off to the left. As I sank into a crouch, I caught a glimpse of Terra rounding a server stack to my right. Looking back, I observed Caelum leaning against the terminal, the shadows seemingly wrapping around him. The terminal itself appeared shut off, with no trace of a Scroll currently siphoning a Councilor's private files.

I would have whistled if it wouldn't have caused me to be at gunpoint.

Facing towards the door, I crept forward. I thought to expand Recursive Nature into a longsword, but I discarded the idea. Adrian had stressed staying undetected, and my weapon's whirring might alert the guards tramping through the aisles.

Fists it was.

I reached an intersection in the stacks, diodes the only motion in my view. Then, a guard plodded out of a stack to my right. His hand hovered next to his handgun's holster, the other on his radio. When his eyes darted away from my direction, I sprang forward, fist cocked back. Perhaps hearing my jump, he swiveled his head around—only to meet my knuckles.

The blow jerked his head to the side, and he staggered back a few steps. A crackle of static sounded from his radio. As I landed, I noticed his thumb had engaged the transmission button. Stepping back into his guard, I knocked his hand aside and tore the radio from his vest. I threw it to the ground and smashed it underfoot.

Ducking under his haphazardly thrown fist, I swept his feet out from under him. He landed heavily, and a swift kick to the head rendered him unconscious. I raised an eyebrow at his lack of Aura, but at hearing sounds of struggle nearby, I abandoned the thought and moved his body to the side.

I arrived at another intersection when a shot rang out. I felt the bullet whiz by my ear, and I instinctively rolled to the side. Battle experience announced the shooter's location to my left. A swift glance revealed a guard with her handgun pointed at my skull. Our eyes met in the gloom, and she squeezed off another shot. This time, the bullet impacted my shoulder. My Aura halted the shot, the Dust from the round coloring my white dress shirt.

An interesting visit to the dry cleaners lay in my future.

Surging at the guard with Aura-powered strides, I sent a kick flying at her midsection. She crumpled around my shoe, the force sending her to the ground. With a thud, she skidded across the tile floor, her gun clattering beside her. Booting the gun away, I struck at her temples. Her eyes rolled up into her head at the blow.

"All clear," Adrian called from the door. "I'll keep watch for more. Phoenix, check on Caelum and the Scroll."

Retrieving the guns from the guards I had downed, I returned to the terminal. Caelum stood to the side, no longer shrouded in shadow, and Adrian's Scroll had reappeared on its dais, unharmed. The cursor at the terminal blinked, indicating the file transfer had completed. I tapped a few keys to restart the terminal, then snatched the Scroll. With the prize in hand, Caelum and I retreated for the door.

APCT reassembled at Adrian's post. Satisfied his Scroll contained Glass's files, Adrian directed us out a side exit. A pleasant breeze and Remnant's shattered moon greeted us, but the red and blue police lighting dancing on the neighboring buildings broke the tranquility of the evening.

Glass's words echoed through my head. _"You four will be the people of the hour."_

Oh, the irony.

We spent the next hour circumventing their barricades, Caelum's manufactured darkness cloaking us as we navigated Vale's streets and alleyways. Eventually, we reached an air ferry service and clambered into the aircraft. When the doors closed, we all breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. Tension dissipated.

As the aircraft whisked us through the air, I recalled my previous ferry ride. It, too, had followed an escape. It, too, had been framed by the broken moon above and the milky waters below.

But no longer was I lost, adrift in the psychological mists of amnesia. Now, I sat with friends, an indivisible cadre of four.

Despite myself, despite the warring powers around us, despite the criminally-tinged situation we found ourselves in—I felt at peace.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you can't, Phoenix?"

I nodded gravely. From what I had seen, my Semblance had its limits, and file decryption was definitely one of them.

A rare grimace of irritation crossed my leader's features, if only for a second. He reined his emotions in quickly, but the fact that his composure broke communicated leagues.

"But Phoenix, I need…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. You can't do what you can't do."

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll get an algorithm cooked up, I promise. It just won't be as pretty as my Semblance."

As Adrian looked at me, I could see the worry behind his eyes fade. "Thank you," he said.

Stowing his Scroll away and sitting up, he turned to address the rest of APCT. Across from us, the other pair sat on Caelum's bed. While Caelum still wore his tuxedo, Terra was clad in a sweatshirt and shorts. From the way her dress lay in the corner of the dorm room, I could tell she wasn't wearing it again anytime soon.

Adrian cleared his throat. "As you've probably guessed, the newsreels are fixated on what happened at the Gala. Lisa Lavender alone has interviewed ten partygoers, all supporters of Glass. My father's in police custody, and our faces have appeared several times over the past hour."

"In other words, it's not a pretty picture," Caelum said.

"Do you think that explosion went off because of your father?" asked Terra.

Adrian frowned. "Contrary to what Glass said, no one else seems to have any evidence of what caused the explosion. The Vale PD has been silent this entire evening."

I leaned forward. "Glass went renegade?"

He shook his head. "Not likely. I wouldn't be surprised if he had a direct line to someone in Dust shipping that would know about damage along the railway. Vale PD doesn't have those kinds of contacts."

"A setup, then," Caelum voiced.

Adrian rubbed his temples. "I doubt that too. As much as Glass craves power, he wouldn't endanger thousands to achieve his goals."

Terra crossed her arms. "So was it an explosion or not?"

My leader sighed. "Look, the explosion doesn't matter here," he said. "What matters is what will happen to my father."

"Impeachment," I said.

He gave a weak nod. "The Councilors will vote, with Glass as senior member splitting any ties. If successful, then judges of the Vale Supreme Court will determine if the charges hold water."

"I'm sure you already know what his chances are," Caelum guessed.

"Unfortunately, I do," he said. "Impeachment is almost certain, with Councilors likely voting along party lines. Trial is a bit fuzzier, but I'd hedge fifty-fifty."

Caelum's shoulders stiffened, and his frown deepened. "Your father's a good man. They're fools to attack him now."

"Fools, yes, but powerful fools," Adrian replied. "Glass scored a hit this evening, and the rest of them smell blood. The other Councilors know the odds."

"And it's better to back a winner," Terra said. "I know the type—Vacuo's factions are rife with behavior like this. When the roulette wheel spins, they all bet on where the ball will land, forgetting that letting it roll free results in a loss every time."

Adrian grinned, a humorless thing perfectly suited for the occasion. "We're to make sure it doesn't fall where the chips are. Starting with these." He motioned to his pocket. I thought to the encrypted files on his Scroll. Stirrings of the needed program began to assemble in my mind.

"If we manage to decrypt them," Caelum began. At Adrian's and my looks, though, he said, " _when_ we manage to decrypt them, what do we intend to do with them? Leaking them to the press isn't the brightest idea."

"I'll give them to my father or to Vale PD," Adrian said. "Not everything, mind you, but just enough to point them towards a contradiction, a string that will unravel the tapestry Glass spun tonight. It may not be enough to restore my father's reputation, but it'll be enough to keep him from behind bars."

"I'm happy you think so," a new voice said. Startled, I turned to see Ozpin in the doorway, a steaming mug in one hand and his cane in the other. A glint of amusement in his eyes peeked out from behind his spectacles.

"P-professor," said Adrian. He jumped up to greet our visitor, but the headmaster gestured for him to retake seat on the bed. Adrian complied, the springs in the mattress giving a muffled squeak.

Ozpin stepped into the room. "Tonight's entertainment was something else, wouldn't you agree?" Adrian and Caelum looked unamused, and Terra rolled her eyes, but he continued as if he didn't notice the lukewarm reaction.

Ozpin sipped at his mug. "Glass is a cunning man. Pundits bandied about the possibility of Glass usurping Calder's position, especially with an age-old loophole in the Constitution that few are aware of."

"And what would that loophole be, Professor?" asked Terra.

Ozpin settled into the chair stationed at APCT's lone desk. "Once one has served as Presiding Councilor, the position must be surrendered to the next in line. But in the case of impeachment and conviction, an election is held for the open seat. However, in a state of emergency, no election is held, and instead the next senior member occupies the position for the remainder of the term, plus his own time as Presiding Councilor."

Caelum's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Glass wanted another term."

Ozpin hummed. "But at quite the interesting cost. Should his bet fail, his stint as politician will surely end, and I can't say the SDC would welcome him onto the Board of Trustees with open arms."

"So why play such a game?" asked Adrian.

The headmaster swirled his mug about. "The same reason you all are here. High rollers reap great benefits, whether in power or status as heroes. Risk is just a means to an end."

He motioned to Adrian's pocket. "Those files will weight the dice, but make sure their impact will have the greatest effect. You've one chance."

"Professor?" I asked. Ozpin's eyes found mine, simultaneously calculating and warm. "Why support us? We're practically on wanted posters by now."

Setting his mug on the desk, he leaned back in his chair, gazing at the ceiling. After a pause, he said, "I am among a select few that oversee grand projects necessary to our survival. My position isn't something to take lightly."

He looked back to me. "Great powers need not bother with smaller issues. It sends the wrong message." He smiled. "But that doesn't mean we ignore the world around us. A chess master plays the game, but pieces fight the battles."

"Are we pieces, then?" I mused. My question hung in the air. Ozpin gave no indication as to its answer.

"Glass was wrong about the origin of the explosion," he said. "It was not human-caused or Dust-caused."

Adrian stilled. "Grimm…"

Ozpin's smile vanished, his face growing stony. "Not just any Grimm—the cyborg Grimm."

My leader leaned forward, hands in fists. "Professor, we need answers."

"And I'm here to give them," he assured. "We've staunched media coverage of these monsters, but it's only a matter of time before grainy Scroll videos and scattered eyewitness testimonies accumulate into something that cannot be stopped."

Ozpin retrieved his mug from the desk, taking a draw of his beverage. "The index case was the beast you fought in Atlas a few months ago. Prior to your sighting, no cyborg Grimm of any kind had been recorded in any Kingdom. Your report alarmed us, and so we sent teams of Huntsmen to examine every square inch of Atlas's tundra and frozen forests. What they found terrified us."

Across from me, Caelum and Terra shifted uncomfortably. I felt a bit uneasy myself, flashes of APCT's battle in the Atlesian forest haunting me. Only Adrian seemed unruffled.

Ozpin ran a hand through his hair. "As you know, Grimm spawn from darkness and negative energy. Pools of strange chemicals act as catalysts for their creation, but Grimm do not breed. They come into our world through alien natural processes impossible to replicate, for if they could, they could also be halted."

He looked at each of us in turn, steel creeping into his gaze. "Yet we found a factory in the Atlesian permafrost. Its construction was not human in nature, nor was it Grimm, if such a thing existed. Yet the Grimm flocked to it, and they walked away bearing cybernetic attachments. Loosely organized bands of Beowolves, Ursai, and other Grimm became corps of monsters. The longer the Huntsmen teams watched, the more they felt an intelligence passing between them all, a sort of hive mind operating in the frosty moors."

Adrian shot me a look. I shook my head subtly. Ozpin didn't need to know right now. Besides, he probably already knew, or at least had his suspicions.

Ozpin continued. "Needless to say, the Huntsmen slew the Grimm and destroyed the factory with Dust charges and their Semblances. They tried to salvage some of the factory's parts, but when the first explosion rang out, the factory appeared to self-destruct, as if knowingly preventing us from obtaining a portion to study. After that, no traces of cyborg Grimm were found on any Kingdom—until a few days ago."

Adrian refocused on Ozpin. "The Grimm that entered City Hall was a cyborg."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "They coordinated their attack, City Hall their goal from the outset. As I mentioned earlier, they engineered that explosion. Traces of ash were found on the remnants of the Dust train. The Beowolf would have been a martyr if the Grimm had such a concept."

"Then why haven't you told the public?" asked Caelum, his tone accusatory.

"The same reason why the public doesn't know of the cyborg Grimm in the first place," Ozpin responded. "Between mass hysteria and political upheaval, a little politics seems a blessing."

"Still, my father's on the chopping block," Adrian said. "But now we can't save him by revealing the true cause of the explosion. Glass wins."

"Don't be too hasty," warned the headmaster. "There are many ways to skin a Beowolf. Certainly you've learned a few."

With that, Ozpin stood and left the room.

* * *

The cold bit at my exposed arms, but my Aura softened the chill. The lack of any breeze caused my misted breath to cloud at my face. Retrieving my Scroll from my pants pocket, I stepped to the roof's edge. I sat down on the ledge and let my feet dangle over the side.

A thirty-foot fall be damned—my Aura could take it. Besides, I needed the peace and quiet. Algorithms didn't write themselves.

After typing in the framework for a brute force decryption program with semi-numb fingers, I heard the roof door clang open behind me. Caelum joined me on the ledge soon after. He sported his characteristic smile, but his posture suggested unease.

"Strange that your feet led you here," he said. "You loved coming up here to work."

I snorted. "Old habits, I guess." Saving the program, I closed the Comet IDE, turned off my Scroll's screen, and let it sit in my lap. Turning to Caelum, I said, "Something struck a nerve with you tonight."

Caelum's face darkened, the shadows clinging to his features. "I don't like politics—it's an ugly game. The price is steep, the rewards meager."

My eyebrows rose. "Tell me more."

He sighed. "I came to Beacon to escape Mistral," he said.

"Because of the Council?"

Caelum turned his gaze upwards. "The Council of Mistral is… different than Vale's, mired in tradition and insistent upon the old ways. At face value, the nine Councilors _are_ the Council, but everyone in the inner circle knows the Presiding Councilor is the true ruler."

"You were in the inner circle," I guessed.

He tilted his head to the side. "Not me, per se," he said. "My father was a member of the governmental retinue. He was a man with empty power, a secondary figurehead of the regime. But when a coup broke out, the new leaders considered him among the enemy and banished him from the capitol."

I turned to face him fully, a leg on either side of the ledge. "Where did you go?"

"My family fled to a small village on the outskirts of the capitol. We ran a music shop, my parents's collection of sheet music transformed into a profession to feed a table of six. Law enforcement was rare, so I learned to throw fists along with how to tune a violin."

Caelum closed his eyes. In the moonlight, I could see his hands clenching the ledge. "My father, though, was a broken man. He felt responsibility where there was none, saw ghosts of the men who fell at the hands of the new regime.

"I never forgave the system that crushed his soul."

His words carried a venom that was palpable in the night air. The carefree violinist was nowhere to be found, a tempered pragmatist in his place.

"Then why smile?" I asked.

Caelum's tense posture melted away. He looked at me, a hint of a grin at his lips. "Because laughter heals. In a broken world, we seized any balm we could." He paused. "Old habits, I guess."

I grinned back. "Touché."

The sound of the roof door broke the still air, announcing a third presence to our midnight rooftop gathering. "Mind if I join you?" Without waiting for a reply, Terra plopped herself down on the other side of me. "What were you talking about?" she asked.

I shifted back to my original position on the ledge. "Why we smile," I replied.

Terra scoffed. "That's easy. The sword is for the enemy, but the smile is for friends."

Caelum hummed. "I see Vacuo's left quite the mark on you."

Terra shrugged. "It's impossible to live there and not feel changed. With your fingertips on the pulse of survival, life comes into a sharper focus."

"A simple life," I said. "Then what do you make of all this?"

She huffed, her breath swirling about her face. "Needless. Strength determines who rules in Vacuo, not how well one can twist words and play to the masses."

"It's the opposite in Mistral," Caelum said. "Subtlety is the weapon of choice—warriors have no place as ruler."

I stared out at Beacon's campus. "And Vale seems to be caught in the middle—a warrior and an orator, struggling for dominance," I mused.

"And a robotic enemy to boot," added Terra.

"About that," I began. "I had a conversation with Ozpin's 'hive mind' when Adrian and I chased down that Grimm at City Hall. It called itself RUST."

Terra shuddered. "So Ozpin was right," she said.

I cradled my Scroll, its metal casing chilling. "It called me a variable. It had a goal in mind."

"And what do you suppose that goal was?" asked Caelum, biting his lip.

"I don't know," I answered. "But I'm sure we'll find out. This isn't the last we'll see of it."

We watched silently as a cloud drifted in front of the moon, until a clattering caused me to look down. Terra had produced another windup toy from the pockets of her sweatshirt. It hobbled to the end of the ledge, then toppled off onto a small force projection.

"Hey, Terra?"

"Yes, Phoenix?"

"The toys…"

She retrieved the toy from its precarious position. "What about them?"

I watched as she wound it up again. "You make them quite a lot."

She let it skitter on her arm. "They remind me of home."

"How so?"

When the toy exhausted its power, she stored it back in her sweatshirt. "My father's shop had all sorts of screws and pieces of metal lying around," she said. "I created my first one in third-grade and sold it to a kindergartener. Hardly covered the cost of materials, but my father insisted I continue to manufacture them."

"A stipend, then," I said.

She nodded. "Sales of trinkets like these relieved some of the burden two mouths put on a single salary. Making them became second nature."

I hummed. "And what about Ozpin?"

"You mean when we first met?" At my nod, she said, "He visited my father's shop to have his wristwatch repaired. Normally, we don't do that sort of work, but Lien is Lien.

"My father was out that day, so I managed the store when Ozpin came in. As I worked, he chatted with me about the city and the shop.

"Then he asked me how my Umbra combat final went."

I raised an eyebrow. Terra paused, then said, "The day Ozpin visited was the day my combat final was scheduled. I had missed it because I had to run the shop."

"But Ozpin knew," I said.

Terra rolled her eyes. "Ozpin always knows," she said. "Anyway, he asked me in a knowing manner, a kind that left my indifferent reply dead on my tongue. Then, in the next breath, he offered me a spot at Beacon, a Scroll presented to me with the requisite forms."

Terra pulled out the toy and fiddled with it. "He then told me he knew of my father's underworld ties and assured me that if I signed, my father would suffer no legal repercussions when the crackdown happened the following day."

She shot me a wry grin. "I was speechless, naturally. I didn't understand his reasoning behind the offer, and I still don't know why he did it. But signing his Scroll was one of the greatest decisions of my life."

I stared back up at the moon. "Then let's not let him down."

* * *

 _Initializing…_

 _Scanning for updates…_

 _Logging in Hayes, Phoenix…_

 _Startup completed._

Welcome to Clover Search Engine!

Type a word or phrase below to begin searching.

Search phrase: "Artificial Intelligence"

 _Retrieving…_

Artificial intelligence (AI) is a branch of computer science devoted to studying and creating intelligent systems that process data and commands in much the same manner as humans and faunus do. While colloquial use of the term "AI" almost always refers to higher cognitive functions, such as creativity or problem-solving, AI applies to any class of program that seeks a goal using sufficiently advanced heuristics. However, since its scope is constantly expanding, computer scientists find it difficult to classify AI to any concrete definition.

The Great War saw the inception of AI, where rudimentary AI operated robotic soldiers on both sides. While these precursors to modern-day Atlesian Paladins suffered staggering losses in the face of a human or faunus enemy, generous military funding ensured AI's speedy advancement. Its momentum continues today, with Atlas investing billions of Lien a year to its Computing and Artificial Intelligence Research iNstute (CAIRN). The other three Kingdoms follow suit, albeit at slower paces.

While AI research faces obstacles in natural language processing, abstract reasoning, and an ability to plan, computer scientists almost unanimously believe that AI will eventually surpass humanity's and faunus's natural intelligence. At this point, a technological singularity may develop. AI critics claim crisis will sweep Remnant as any conscious AI goes rogue, while AI supporters believe it can be trained to do good. Currently, computer scientists predict three decades of research would lay the proper latticework a conscious AI requires. Further, they claim an additional decade of implementation may follow as disparate theoretical ideas are brought together into one construct.

 _For further reading, see the following:_

 _Atlesian Paladin OS_

 _Computer and Artificial Intelligence Research iNstitute (CAIRN)_

 _Technological Singularity_

 _Closing search…_

 _Saving cache…_

Goodbye, Phoenix.

* * *

A/N: To all those that wondered at what Phoenix's command was, it was likely: "ls -l | sort -k3,3 -rnk5,5." This command in Unix sorts files in a directory by author and by size. Normally, it only outputs files from the working directory, but Phoenix's Semblance _may_ have done something to circumvent that.

On another note, I'm juggling two plot points right now. I'd like to know your thoughts—are the characters responding correctly? Do I strike a good balance between dialogue and action? I've reached the point that many authors feel, that twinge of dissatisfaction in any words I write. I'll continue writing, but direction seems a bit hazy.

Anyways, two weeks per post seems to work for now, but if the workload increases, I may have to stretch it to three weeks. But two weeks it is!

Update (9/15): Changed story name to "Retrograde Shift" from "Shift."

-CTech


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY. I do, however, own my own characters. I am not profiting from this story.

* * *

Recursive Nature beeped from my wrist, once again reminding me of the wait I had already incurred. My initial expectations of Cloverleaf's Vale campus, once as vibrant as the propaganda they packed the airwaves with, withered even further.

Perhaps I had placed too much faith in my mother's employer.

The Cloverleaf office hummed around me. To the casual observer, the space gave off the appearance of productivity. In reality, it was probably just paper pushing and saccharine smiles—a sour pill when I realized the length of the customer service line, but I swallowed it nonetheless.

After all, no one argues with the only company with potential to overtake the SDC in quarterly earnings. In comparison to the SDC's grisly workplace environment and its equally vehement HR department, Cloverleaf's management was a blessing.

Situated at the heart of the commercial district, Cloverleaf's Vale branch was all glass windows and sharp edges, a declaration against the status quo among the traditional brick-and-mortar stores. Customers shuffled in and out of the doors constantly, and bright colors from their video screens splashed onto the streets at all times of day. Fun and peppy incarnate, if there ever was one.

That image stopped at the second floor. Sure, video game cabinets and whiteboard walls helped disguise the cubicles lurking underneath, but an office was an office.

With, unfortunately, the same hoops to jump through.

As I scrolled through Comet, I thought back to my morning greeting—Adrian had roused APCT to good news. Apparently, Ozpin had pulled strings the previous night to keep both the police and the press off our backs. His written statement touted enough legalese to make my head spin, and even against Glass's maneuvers, Ozpin's legal barricade stood fast. In short, the four of us were still students at Beacon, nothing more, nothing less.

Allowing me to take a weekend visit to Cloverleaf—and hopefully, my mother.

I continued to scan my code in Comet, searching for bugs and inefficiencies. To crack Glass's encryption, I needed to find a key. While a brute force method of checking every possible passcode was relatively easy to implement, a back-of-the-envelope calculation pegged my Scroll's runtime at years at best and decades at the worst. Even utilizing my team's Scrolls or Beacon's computational resources, the program would still require weeks to terminate—time we didn't have.

Instead, I was left with two options—search faster, or search smarter. I started with the latter.

I spent the morning reviewing published implementations of dictionary attacks and modified "smart" searches. After adjusting the implementations to suit my needs, I compiled a list of phrases Glass may have used in his passwords. Adrian helped, too, offering information of Glass's personal life he had gleaned from public and private interactions with the politician. A repository of leaked passwords helped round out the algorithm's robustness.

However, no amount of picking away at the mountain of potential passwords would ever result in a climbable foothill. Standing at the base of the metaphorical mountain, I decided to pay Cloverleaf's Vale branch a visit. Surely they would have the computational resources to break Glass's passwords.

The problem was getting access. Enter Robin Hayes.

"Hello, sir, how may I help you?" The receptionist's voice lilted in an overly-rehearsed manner. Situated behind a large computer monitor, her fingers clacked over the keys, and her eyes darted between the computer screen and me.

"I'm here to see Robin Hayes," I replied.

"Do you have an appointment with Ms. Hayes today?" she asked.

"No, but—"

Her curt response cut me off. "Then I'm sorry, you cannot see her. Would you like to visit with Ms. Woodbury instead?"

"No, I need to speak with—"

Her eyes stopped meeting mine, and any semblance of her prior cheerfulness vanished. "That's not possible, sir. Ms. Hayes has an extremely busy schedule. I can only help those with prearranged appointments."

Her dismissal got on my nerves. "I'm her son," I stated.

The sounds of her typing paused. I found her gaze reluctantly returning to mine. "Even so, she's in a meeting right now," she said. "Corporate policy tells me the best I can do is send a message up to the fifth floor."

The fifth floor…

"Forget it, I'll come back later," I said. I left the bewildered receptionist and headed towards the elevators. When the elevator arrived, I stepped in. A quick application of my Semblance silenced the native AI and routed me to the fifth floor.

A short ride later, I found myself in a sea of cubicles. Conference rooms and executive offices ringed the space, but even with Cloverleaf's obsession with glass, I didn't spy my mother. Shrugging my shoulders back in an effort to ward away inquisitive looks, I waded into the grid of desks and copy machines.

It didn't take me long to locate my mother's ruddy locks. Situated on the opposite side of the building from the bank of elevators, the conference room was dominated by a massive oaken slab and my mother's enthusiastic presentation. Suited men and women surrounded the long table, and all eyes looked her way.

Apparently, my mother knew how to put on a show.

I moved to where I could see my mother's slideshow. The current slide displayed a complex mathematical formula and an intricate diagram. I attempted to decipher it; I could only make out the words 'public key' and 'private key.' Cybersecurity—my mother's element.

Suddenly, her gesticulations stopped. Looking away from the slide, I locked eyes with my mother, red on red. She blinked, offered a few words to the gathering, and then burst out of the room. Before I could utter a greeting, she wrapped me in a tight embrace.

"Phoenix! What a surprise to see you here," she said. Breaking the hug, she stepped back, smoothing out my shirt. "I expected you to be at Beacon, what with all the hubbub."

I winced. "You heard?"

She rolled her eyes, but her easy grin was contagious. "Who hasn't? I woke up to forty voicemails from friends and colleagues," she said. "Even the head of the Cloverleaf Vale branch had a few words for me this morning."

My eyebrows rose. "Really?" I gave a nervous chuckle. "Looks like I'm the talk of the town."

My mother laughed. "Your time in the limelight will fade soon enough, hun. Give it twenty-four hours." She gave a shrug. "By then, Glass will have moved on to fry bigger fish."

My smile fell. "Calder Douglas, you mean."

"Unfortunately, yes," she said, drooping a bit. A second passed, then she looked back to the conference room as if noticing them for the first time. Peeking over her shoulder, I found half the room staring at us and the other half tapping away at Scrolls and tablets.

"Oh, I'd better tell them who you are," my mother said to me. "One moment."

Returning to the glass-walled room, she spent a minute conversing with a man near the door. She pointed to me, prompting the man to swivel around and cast me a glance. Turning back to my mother, the man nodded reluctantly. A few more words were traded, then she exited the room. Whisking past me, she said, "Follow me."

We threaded our way past rows of cubicles. Before long, we arrived at an executive office in the corner of the building. Waving her Scroll by the door scanner, my mother turned the knob and waved me in.

As she shut the door behind me, I glanced about the space. Overlooking Vale proper, the office's view rivaled Ozpin's, and the plush carpeting and generous furnishings softened any instinctive formality. Following my mother's example, I sank into one of the chairs scattered about the room.

"Sorry about that, hun," my mother said. "Corporate doesn't usually condone abrupt changes of schedule."

"I didn't expect you to leave your meeting, though," I said. Motioning to the room, I said, "Or usurping someone else's office, for that matter."

My mother snorted. "Lucio won't mind. He understands that I haven't seen you in months." Sitting up, she leaned towards me. "So, tell me all about it."

"My mission?" At her nod, I gave her a summarized version of Ozpin's detailed fabrication. My mother's subsequent questions were either easily fielded or deflected with the mention of the dubious NDA's surrounding the whole 'ordeal.'

My mother sat back in her chair. "Your adventure sounds leagues more exciting than your father's. I can only hear so much about Forever Fall and Grimm fishing expeditions before I threaten him with a lecture on modular arithmetic." She grinned. "That quiets him pretty quickly." We shared a laugh.

"But enough about that," she said. "You aren't the type to visit your mother on a whim." She cocked her head inquisitively. "Something brought you here."

On my walk to the Cloverleaf office, I had pondered what I was going to tell my mother. On one hand, mention of password cracking would have likely been met with gusto. On the other hand, following Ozpin's stark denial of APCT's criminal activity with blatant evidence to the contrary wasn't the brightest idea. So, I settled on the middle road—obscure the real motivations for my visit, but relent if she pressed.

"A combinatorics project, actually," I responded. "I've written up a few algorithms I'd like to test, but I don't have the computational resources to complete them in a reasonable timeframe." I gestured to my Scroll pointedly.

My mother quirked an eyebrow. "Combinatorics, at a time like this? In the wake of a Grimm attack, no less."

I shrugged. "It's something that's been sitting in Comet for a while now," I said. "Besides, you wanted to see me this weekend, so I thought I could kill two Nevermores with one stone."

"Fair enough," my mother said. "As a matter of fact, I _do_ have access to a small chunk of Cloverleaf's R &D cluster. I'll load your program onto it—on one condition."

"What would that be?" I asked.

She smiled. "I get to test my new security exploits against your Scroll."

I blinked. Looks like both of us were interested in prying into where we weren't supposed to. Oh, the irony.

"I accept," I said, handing her my Scroll. "What does your test entail?"

She tapped a few times at my Scroll, ostensibly to set up her program. "I've been working with Cloverleaf to identify exploits in their OS. Over these past few weeks, I've concocted a general battery of tests to prod against a few backdoors Cloverleaf left during their last big software update."

After consulting me for some of my Scroll's passwords, she continued. "However, you've always been one to experiment with strengthening your device's security. I'm curious to see what patches you've made."

I shrugged noncommittally. "I guess we'll find out."

After a jumble of confirmation screens and command line inputs, my Scroll's screen faded into the pen and parchment logo.

"My analysis will take a bit of time, probably a few minutes," my mother said. Setting my Scroll on the desk, she turned to look out the window. Bullheads crossed the sky lazily, and repair teams dotted the streets, tending to broken windowpanes and cracked façades.

"Mom," I started. "What's your opinion on artificial intelligence?"

"What about it, hun?" she asked.

I forced thoughts of RUST from my mind, else I make my mother suspicious. "Who are the big players? Is Cloverleaf one of them?" I asked.

My mother put a finger to her lips. "Well, I can't say for sure, but during my comings and goings here, I've heard rumors of a certain Project Rosemary."

"Rosemary?"

She nodded. "Yes. Apparently, Cloverleaf is developing a more proficient AI than the one they currently have on the market. They aim to integrate it into all their devices in a few years, and plans to expand into the 'smart home' or general assistant markets aren't unheard of, either."

I hummed. "But what about their capabilities right now?"

"Atlesian Knights run a sophisticated combat AI—or, at least it was sophisticated by standards set a decade ago," she said. "Meanwhile, CCT towers host AI that converse easily with customers and can perform menial tasks, such as data retrieval."

I crossed my arms. "So nothing truly groundbreaking, then," I said.

My mother laughed. "Moore's Law has desensitized you," she said. "When I was growing up, any machine that could talk was considered revolutionary."

"I guess," I said. "In any case, if I wanted to visit centers of AI development, where would I go?"

"Leaving so soon?" my mother asked. Her mock hurt tone caused me to roll my eyes. "As usual, CAIRN's campus hosts the best and brightest, but Mistral's theoretical output isn't something to ignore."

My Scroll gave off a chime. Focusing on the device, I watched the screen flash and spit out a ream of text. At a dialogue prompt, my mother tapped in a few letters. Satisfied, she handed the device back to me.

"Thanks, hun," she said. "I'm eager to examine the data." Rising from her seat, she said, "Now, let's get you set up with R&D."

Cloverleaf R&D, located on the seventh floor, looked much more like a server room than an office. Fans buzzed, keeping server stacks and computer clusters cool. Several technicians sat cross-legged among the stacks, a tablet balanced on a knee and wires from the stacks splayed in every direction.

"I know it's not pretty, but it helps the world go 'round," my mother mused. "The main terminal is in the corner."

After my mother logged in to the terminal, we spent the next few minutes transferring my program into the system and ensuring the output would be sent to my Scroll upon completion. I was pleased to acquire a link that would allow me to check up on my program's progress. Additionally, in the case of a crash, the same link could restart the program and issue small patches.

I sighed when my mother finally pressed 'enter.'

"There you have it," my mother said. "Sixty-four gigabytes of memory, doing your bidding." She turned off the terminal's screen. "How's it feel?"

Relieving. Exciting. Satisfying. Progress measured in millions of bits hummed behind me, sifting through billions of possibilities in the blink of an eye.

"Pretty good," I responded. "After fighting Grimm, a little math is a pleasant respite."

She wrapped me in a one-armed hug. "That's my son," she said. "Now, unfortunately, I must get back to work. I may get free roam of their office, but my excuses only work for so long."

"I understand," I said.

"Let me show you out," my mother offered. "I'll text you when you can visit this weekend—free of any board meetings, I promise."

An elevator ride and a kiss on the cheek later, I found myself retracing my steps to the air ferry station.

Glass's files's days were limited.

* * *

The soft clank of Recursive Nature's finished transformation marked the start of the spar. No blows flew, yet the coiled energy in our limbs promised strikes to come. Eyes flitted from weapon to weapon, person to person, reading familiar cues and analyzing them with a feverish pace engendered by anticipation and adrenaline.

The art of war was not in the strike, but in how one struck. Speed and strength struggled for dominance in a duel, but strategy trumped all.

Keeping my sword low, I circled warily to the left. I sensed Adrian an arm's length to my right, Riptide held diagonally across his chest. His battle tactics echoed in my head.

Across from me, Terra gripped Brisk Solution like a bat. The bludgeon had me involuntarily flinching—the ghost of Griffin's chain mace played out on my ribs. My Aura flared restlessly.

Shifting my gaze to my other opponent, I found Harmony pointed my way. Caelum's other hand hovered over his shoulder, prepared to retrieve Melody at a moment's notice.

Dust allowed. Non-blunted tips. No-holds-barred.

A true two-on-two showdown.

I recalled Adrian's conjecture—with Terra's hand-on-hand preference and Caelum's ability to provide middle or melee range support, the two constituted a force that hit hard without remorse.

They would show no mercy.

A hitch in Adrian's breathing signaled the start of our attack. A single surge of Aura into my legs launched me into Caelum's guard. Longsword clashed against rapier, metal screeching against carbon-fiber, as we grappled for an upper hand. Next to me, Riptide met every single one of Terra's blows. I smirked—Adrian's unrelenting defense wasn't something to be written off by a simple display of force.

A redoubling of pressure from Harmony caused me to refocus my attentions on the musician. Likely sensing an opening, Caelum directed Recursive Nature to the side with an Aura-powered motion and followed with a fist. I brought my pommel up to stop his blow, but the Aura-infused appendage met my sword soundly, jarring my arm. My arm grew numb from the strike, and my grip on Recursive Nature weakened. Anticipating Harmony to disarm me, I jumped backwards.

Harmony whisked past my wrist, whistling through the space my pommel had been just a half second earlier. A clever gambit, but Caelum likely hedged on my detecting it.

Harmony's capitalizing thrust, which I barely managed to deflect, was proof of that.

We all had good battle sense—years of sparring and careful instruction had ensured that much. Now, it was a matter of endurance and wit. Who would crack first?

It sure wasn't going to be me.

I responded to Caelum's thrust with one of my own. When he parried it in kind, we fell into a pattern of strike and counterstrike, jab, parry, riposte, dodge, feint. Finely-honed instincts sharpened by quick eyes and minds prevented either party from incurring major blows, but small hits cut through every few seconds. Our Auras dropped slowly but steadily, mistake upon mistake making themselves known in time.

A glance at my Scroll showed me the one with greater Aura reserves. At that moment, Terra decided to switch dueling partners.

My admiration at Terra's battle awareness crumpled under the fusillade I now faced.

Brisk Solution sailed in from my right. The flat of my blade halted the wrench, but a slow response to Harmony's concurrent flight cost me a point in the ribs. Crying out, I channeled Aura into my limbs, allowing me to force back Terra's bludgeon and bat Harmony's tip to the ground.

"Adrian," I called. A grunt of acknowledgement sounded from behind me, and then Riptide's report boomed. I expected one of them to cease their attack, what with bullets pinging off their armor and Aura at a steady pace, but they continued their onslaught, as if unaware of my partner's gunfire.

I grit my teeth. Very well.

Slicing to my right, I impacted one of Terra's force projections with my blade. When I drove Harmony to the side with my arm guard, Caelum automatically took a step back. I feinted towards his retreat, only to send Recursive Nature flying back in Terra's direction. With a cry of surprise, Terra hastily cast another force projection, stopping my blade in full.

Bringing my blade back inside my guard, I stepped towards Caelum, hoping to capitalize on his retreat.

Unfortunately, my offensive never started.

Behind me, Terra brought Brisk Solution to bear. At point-blank range, her birdshot dug into my back. I could feel my Aura strain against the projectiles, my Aura reserves plummeting at the shot. Staggering forward, Terra's bludgeon clipped the back of my head. My forward motion softened the blow, yet I still tumbled to the ground, my vision spinning.

Performing what I hoped was a roll, I managed to stand. Whirling Recursive Nature around me in an attempt to ward away another hit, I blinked to clear the stars from my vision. When my sight cleared, I spied Terra on course to engage with Adrian. Caelum stood before me, Harmony trained on my form.

My incipient headache throbbed with my hammering heartbeat. I placed my hand on my head, as if reminding my Aura to mask the pain. In a second, the pain dropped to manageable levels. Enough for me to think, at least.

As Caelum and I faced each other, I spared my Scroll a glance. My Aura sat at a pretty 34%, the lowest out of the four of us by no small means.

Crossing swords with Caelum would be more evenly matched this time around, as I was slightly dazed. What's more, my preferred offensive tactics would invite damaging blows to sneak through my defenses—damage I could not afford to incur.

Fighting Caelum defensively wouldn't net me any benefits, either. Withholding retaliating strikes out of fear of losing what Aura I had remaining impaired my potential to win a skirmish, and I severely doubted my ability to outlast the musician, given my battered state.

Which left me one option…

I spun on my heels and ran at Adrian, supplying what Aura I dared into my legs to speed my passage.

As I ran, I watched as Terra swung her bludgeon downwards, only to meet the center of Adrian's staff. Adrian's counter, a low sweep at her feet, was blocked by an expertly placed force projection.

Despite the adrenaline roaring through my veins and the blood pumping in my ears, I found myself marveling at the pair's disparate fighting styles. Warriors too often get buried in the intricacies of battle, ignoring style to examine technique. Yet the pair's stylistic juxtaposition caught my eye as I closed in.

Terra fought like a back-alley bouncer. Her forceful blows, while at first glance appeared haphazardly thrown, were undoubtedly guided by experience. No doubt confrontations involving hidden daggers and concealed handguns shaped her into a merciless hard-hitter.

In stark contrast was Adrian's fluid battle style. Flowing from one motion to the next, his movements conjured a sort of grace to mind. His unflagging defenses reflected his constant personality well.

One could watch the two fight and glean more of their personalities from a spar than a single conversation.

Such was the power of battle.

Adrian's eyes met my own, then returned to scanning for Terra's next advance. Racing past her, I gyrated on the balls of my feet and sent my blade flying at her face.

Time to enact our plan.

Emitting a shout of surprise, Terra hefted Brisk Solution into my sword's path. The two weapons crashed angrily.

Riptide whacked against Brisk Solution's other side. With synchronized movements, Adrian and I wrenched Terra's monkey wrench from her hand and sent it scattering across the concrete floor. Terra responded with a deadly glare and a pair of clenched fists.

One disarmed Terra—check.

At that moment, Caelum decided to launch a wave of sound our way. Unbalanced by his attack, I stumbled backwards, tripped over a force projection at my feet, and soon found Terra straddling my midsection, pummeling my face and chest with a flurry of blows. I attempted to cover my face with my arm, but Terra batted my feeble defense away and continued her onslaught.

Unable to prevent the attack, I sent Aura to my head and chest. Terra pressed on, and I felt my Aura reserves plunge to zero. When my Aura barrier finally dissipated with a spark of red, Terra rolled off of me and sprinted off.

Groaning, I reached for my Scroll. In seconds, Adrian's Aura joined mine.

We had been beaten.

"Good spar, everyone," Adrian called. Sitting up, I found him laying on the ground, chest heaving, Riptide at his side.

Getting to my feet, I said, "Looks like our plan didn't work out."

My leader rolled his eyes. "It worked fine. Our execution, on the other hand…"

Terra clipped Brisk Solution to her belt. "I'll admit, I didn't expect the Riptide-Recursive Nature sandwich back there." Smirking, she said, "Glad I got a chance to use my fists."

"I'm not," I said.

Terra crossed her arms. "You needed some sense beaten into you," she sneered. "You should be thanking me."

I scoffed. "As if."

Caelum offered me a bottle of water, which I eagerly accepted. "Regardless of what Terra says, it was a good fight," he said.

Adrian stood, drank from a proffered water bottle, then said, "Well, team, let's get washed up and ready for dinner. We've got—" His Scroll chimed, prompting him to look down at the device. As his eyes scanned the text, I saw him pause.

No typical message was on that screen. "What is it?" I asked.

Adrian replaced the device at his side. "Change of plans—my father's been released from his hearing."

Terra, already on her way out of the sparring arena, called back, "I'll request a ferry."

Adrian folded Riptide and stored it on his back. "Let's go."

* * *

Even though the lights were on and no enemies, Grimm or human, lay in wait behind each corner, City Hall still disconcerted me. Perhaps it was a psychological thing—enough negative events in the space may have soured all of my subsequent visits.

I shrugged my unease aside. Now was not the time to let the past cloud my thoughts. We were here for Calder, to support him through this trying ordeal.

Calder's office looked as it had just a few days prior, sans Grimm and traces of building rubble. Inside the waiting area, pairs and trios sat on benches, thumbing through tabloids and magazines. A cheery ring of a Scroll sounded from a desk to my left.

All in all, a normal governmental office.

As soon as Calder's secretary spied Adrian, she ushered us into the Councilor's office. At seeing us enter, Calder spoke a few final words into his Scroll before hanging up. He motioned for us to take a seat and offered each of us a cup of coffee. Adrian and Caelum accepted steaming mugs.

"Thanks for coming to see me," he said, rubbing his temples. "You don't know how pleasant it is to see faces whose next words aren't accusations or face-saving maneuvers."

Caelum grew stony-faced. "I understand, Councilor. I am no stranger to governmental squabbling."

Calder shot him a sympathetic look. "Yes, I heard about your father after the regime fell. People are willing to do terrible things for power."

"About that," started Adrian. "Why do you suppose Glass picked _now_ of all times to declare political war?"

The Councilor loosened his tie. "Beats me," he said. "I have my theories like everyone else, but I think Glass isn't the only player here."

"Then who are the others?" asked Terra.

Calder sighed. The vibrancy that had possessed the man was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a man a decade older.

A watched pot never boils, but a watched man never stays young.

"To answer your question, Terra, we must consult history," he said. "What do you know about the SDC?"

Pain flickered behind her eyes. "What do I know about the Schnee Dust Company? A little too much," answered Terra.

Calder gave a weak smile. "Yes, well, everyone knows a little too much about the SDC. It's a side effect of doing business with them." He leaned back in his chair, looking to the ceiling. After a pause, he said, "The SDC was founded my Nicholas Schnee, a man of good heart."

"Too few of those these days," muttered Caelum.

Calder continued as if he hadn't heard Caelum's comment. "When Nick stepped down, capitalism snuck in. Through cheap labor and wretched working conditions, the SDC soon acquired a controlling share of the Dust market. And when monopoly threatens…"

"Government scrambles for a solution," finished Adrian.

The Councilor nodded. "Exactly. But regulating Dust production led to higher Dust prices. Higher Dust prices meant less Dust to go around. Then, some overzealous intern with a penchant for statistics published an article claiming higher Dust prices directly caused an increase in mortality rates."

"From natural causes?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No, from the Grimm. The thought was that Huntsmen equipped with lower levels of Dust wouldn't be able to combat the Grimm as effectively."

Terra frowned. "But the combat schools instruct students not to rely on Dust. On many missions, Dust is banned, or at least minimized."

Calder knit his brow. "That policy was implemented following a precipitous drop in Dust production by the SDC within the last two decades. Most cite faunus protests as the reason for the shortage, but in actuality, many powers were at play."

Caelum sipped at his mug. "But at this time, the combat schools hadn't yet modified their curricula."

"Unfortunately, yes," he said. "So the Kingdom governments, trapped between preventing monopoly and preventing supposedly needless deaths, gave the SDC free reign. Faunus discrimination worsened, and politicians turned the blind eye."

"But what does this have to do with Glass?" I asked.

Calder offered me a smile. "It will all make sense soon, I promise," he said. "Fast-forward a few years—a politician by the name of Forrest ran for the Department of Commerce chair on the Council. He promised to enact a Dust subsidization policy that would assist smaller producers of Dust compete against the SDC."

"An interesting stance," Caelum said. "Surely the SDC opposed his candidacy."

"Absolutely," agreed Calder. "The SDC funneled millions of Lien to his opponent. Yet the populace, unsettled by a string of exposés and corporate corruption charges, tended to associate the SDC with vice and voted him in."

The Forrest memo scandal… Glass capitalized on that to win his election. I sensed a hidden variable in Calder's tale.

"How did Forrest feel about the faunus?" I posed.

The Councilor broke into his first genuine smile of the afternoon. "Forrest was noticeably silent about the faunus, yet his single-policy platform carried him far, a rare occurrence in government of this scale."

Adrian blinked. "And Glass wants the subsidization gone. A law enacted by his predecessor."

"A unique connection, don't you think?" mused Calder. "Note also that Glass holds at least a ten-percent share in SDC stock."

Caelum growled. "The SDC is repealing the law by proxy, Glass acting as their puppet. And all for profits…"

Adrian and I traded knowing looks. If Glass's files contained messages between his office and the SDC, the evidence would be damning.

I held up a hand. "To summarize, the SDC's lower Dust prices created a situation where governmental officials's hands were tied. Now, the SDC has a Dust subsidization law in its sights, and Glass got sucked in. Removing you from office would allow him to achieve that goal and please the SDC."

"I'm with you so far," said Calder.

"But why remove you in the first place? Glass could have waited a year for his turn as Presiding Councilor—a safer option, at least politically."

He shrugged. "Once again, we turn to conjecture. One possible reason is that the SDC is attempting to save face from renaming their heiress with a surge in quarterly earnings. Perhaps Jacques is piloting a new product and needs the assets." Calder threw his hands up. "Or maybe it's just greed."

"I wouldn't put it past him," said Terra.

Adrian set his empty mug on his father's desk. "That leaves the question of how you want to handle the impeachment."

Calder crossed his arms. "There's not much I can do. The other eight Councilors are processing today's hearing. They'll determine if they want to proceed with the impeachment, and if they do, they'll release a statement on Monday regarding their decision."

"Is there a way we could stop it?" pondered Adrian.

"I've an idea of what would do it," said Caelum. "If you held a vote on that Dust subsidization repeal."

"You're probably right," admitted Calder. "But I've been quite firm with my views about the matter. If I reverse here, Glass wins twice."

"Tied hands…" my leader muttered.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.

Learning of how Calder had been backed into a corner, I could almost see the cage surrounding him. With the public eye trained on him, he likely had never felt the weight on his shoulders this much.

Glancing between the Councilor and his son, I examined their shared features: the sweep of their hair, the set of their hunched shoulders, their slightly clenched jawline.

My flashback came to mind. Maturity masked their emotions, but an undercurrent of anxiety likely roiled beneath.

"Why'd you run for the Council?" I asked. At my question, Calder raised his eyes to meet mine.

"To better this world," he replied. "As the leader of my team at Beacon, I learned how to guide others. I learned how to relinquish my desires to further the needs of the group. But most of all, I learned that joy and love in the right places moves mountains."

I tilted my head. "So you pursued politics."

Calder shook his head. "When I ran for Councilor, I didn't want to represent politics. Politics is saying the things to get ahead of the other guy," he said. "When I ran for Councilor, I wanted to represent the people. As a public servant, my duty was to say the things to get ahead—together."

"Not everyone shares your dream," Caelum said.

Calder studied the musician. "No, but it's up to us to seal the fractures. Without us, we'll splinter until we're no more than Dust, and then until we're no more."

* * *

 _Initializing…_

 _Scanning for updates…_

 _Logging in Hayes, Phoenix…_

 _Startup completed._

Welcome to Clover Search Engine!

Type a word or phrase below to begin searching.

Search phrase: "CAIRN"

 _Retrieving…_

The Computer and Artificial Intelligence Research iNstitute, or CAIRN, is a government-funded private branch of Atlas's Department of Science and Technology. CAIRN boasts many technology prize winners and prestigious researchers among its staff, lending to its status as the most cutting-edge computer science research facility on Remnant. Currently, CAIRN focuses on research in parallel systems, large information processing, artificial intelligence, robotics, and cybersecurity.

Founded in the years following the Great War, CAIRN placed Atlas's scattered technology research under one roof. Located on the outskirts of Atlas proper, the CAIRN campus sports a robotics lab, several supercomputer clusters, and a small microchip manufacturing plant. While it is a private branch of Atlas's government, any discoveries made by CAIRN researchers are made public, patented by the government and, if applicable, auctioned off to the private sector for marketing and mass production. As such, CAIRN sees Atlas a steady return on investments, often up to 20% when adjusted for inflation.

CAIRN is most known for its development and installation of the CCT Network.

Recently, CAIRN has drawn criticism surrounding its latest research into cybersecurity. Foreign Kingdoms claim CAIRN is withholding important results to the benefit of Atlas. Some politicians even claim that CAIRN is prepping for a cyber war, administered through the CCT. While CAIRN's staunch denial of such activity has mollified most, increased classification policy upon new direction six months prior spawned a new wave of opposition, rallying for transparency.

 _For further reading, see the following:_

 _CAIRN Robotics Lab_

 _Cross-Continental Transmit Network (CAIRN)_

 _Kingdom of Atlas Department of Science and Technology_

 _Closing search…_

 _Saving cache…_

Goodbye, Phoenix.

* * *

A/N: What a packed two weeks! Midterms, a new mock trial case, and another "Shift" chapter, one right after the other. It's exciting, tiring, and satisfying all at once.

I'm starting to expand into the Cloverleaf/Glass plot arc. RUST is still in the background though—don't think you've seen the last of it.

Also, Comet is essentially Eclipse, for those computer-science minded types.

That's all for now!

-CTech


End file.
